The New Freelancer
by gizmo16x
Summary: RvB fic starting shortly before the "many years ago" parts of Season 9. OC in an AU going off of RvB canon as of the end of Season 10. Rated T for language, some violence, and possible vague references to adult themes. Ties into UnknownNemesis98's "Red vs Blue: Author's Edition." I don't own anything other than the OCs I create.
1. Chapter 1

**Alright, so this is my first story. Feel free to rate and tell me what you think, but no haters please. Also, I was listening to "Mental Meta Metal" from the RvB soundtrack while writing the fight scene. Enjoy!**

As I walk down the halls of the ship, I wonder how I had come to be here. Somebody was mentioning recruiting me for a "Project Freelancer," and in less than a day I'm on this ship, being told I'm on the Mother of Invention, and that I'm now "Agent Nevada." Suddenly, I almost walk into some guy in blue clothes with an ODST helmet on a rack, along with a suit of armor.

"Easy, man," he says, "No need to rush."

I look down, my unusual height bringing him to about my shoulders. "Sorry," I say, "I'm just a bit lost."

"Oh, you're the new arrival. Come on, I'll show you to the break room. You can meet everyone there."

"Sounds good." We head of down the hall.

"By the way," the man says, "I'm Florida."

"Nevada. Nice to meet you."

"You too." A few more moments of silence. "What kind of service did you do before here?"

"Classified. Depending on future circumstances, I may tell you all later."

"Oh, okay."

"You know, I was kinda hoping to get New York, but it was already taken."

"Really? Well, don't worry. York's a good guy, and his specialty fits the whole 'New York City' theme."

"Yeah? What is he, knives?"

"Infiltration. You know, lock-picking."

"Oh. I'm not from the city, but I've heard stories."

"Ah."

I look at the helmet as he pulls the rack of armor with him. "So, you aren't an ODST?"

"Nah, just thought it looked cool. Why?"

"Let's just say my buddies and I don't have a good track record when it comes to getting along with ODSTs. I don't have anything against them, it's more the other way around."

"Oh, okay."

After a couple minutes, a man in a white shirt joins us, and asks, "Florida, how are you, dear fellow? And who is this one?" He has the thickest British accent I've ever heard. His black hair is styled strangely, and he has a handlebar mustache.

I hold out my hand. "Nevada. You?"

He accepts the handshake. "You can call me Wyoming. Knock knock."

I notice Florida shake his head out of the corner of my eye, and hear him groan so quietly no one else could have heard him. I decide to play this cautiously. "Who's there?"

"North."

"North who?"

"North a bit in the meters, aren't we?"

I roll my eyes and turn to Florida. "He's gonna be 'that guy,' isn't he?"

"Yep. Reggie here has a thing for bad knock-knock jokes."

We eventually reach a room with several couches and chairs, a couple of tables, and a few viewing screens. One of them is showing a man cracking jokes, and a few people are laughing on a couch a few feet away. I look closer, and see him pull out a puppet that looks like a skeleton with a turban. As he does this, several of the people on the couch start cheering.

A guy in a yellow shirt with "Grifball" emblazoned on it notices me pauses the screen, eliciting moans and shouts from the others. He turns to them and says, "Guys, new arrival's here."

The others turn and look at me. A guy in a gray and yellow shirt says, "Damn, he's tall!"

Wyoming says, "That's what I said, chap."

The guy in the Grifball shirt walks over, and offers his hand. He has brown hair, and a broad smile. "Hey, man. Name's York."

"Oh yeah, Florida mentioned you. I'm Nevada, but just call me Nev, it's shorter."

"'Kay Nev. Let's introduce you to the rest." York points me towards a pair in purple armor playing ping pong; a man beating a woman by a ridiculous score. "That's North and South Dakota," he says, pointing to the guy and the girl in turn, "They're twins. They're stealth specialists." He gestures towards a man in a white and brown muscle shirt who's almost up to my eyes, making him taller than average. "That's Maine. He's the strongest one here."

"Not for long," I say. Everyone, including Maine and York, gapes at the obvious challenge. Maine cracks his knuckles and grins.

York continues, a bit flustered, "That's Carolina, Washington, and Connecticut. Don't ever call her Connie." As he says this he points to a girl in teal, with red hair and green eyes, the guy in gray and yellow, and a girl in brown.

All of them come over and shake my hand.

South says, "Damn, you're built like a tank!" I simply grin.

Carolina asks, "What's your specialty?"

"Hand-to-hand, mid-range combat, basic medical training, and basically just being a badass. I can snipe a fly off your nose from a mile away, but my buddy Linda could do it at three. Yours?"

She cocks an eyebrow, and says, "Speed. And everybody here's very highly skilled at hand-to-hand."

"Nice. I need someone good to spar against."

"Wash is best at mid-range, CT is best with pistols and knives, and Wyoming, who you already know, is a sniper. Florida is a scout, and Wyoming's spotter on a lot missions."

"Cool. So, what were you guys doing before I got here?" Carolina grins, "Well, North was busy handing South's ass to her." She laughs at South's indignant "Hey!" "And we," she continues, gesturing to herself, York, Wash, and CT, "Were watching a Jeff Dunham routine."

"Who the hell is Jeff Dunham?" I ask. Everyone gapes at me.

"What?!" Wash yells, "How do you grow up and not know of Jeff Dunham? He's one of the biggest names in ventriloquism ever, of all time! Where were you raised?"

"Classified," I say.

"Is everything about you classified?" C.T. asks.

"Pretty much," I say, "Hey, anyone want to spar?"

"I'll do it," a deep voice growls. I turn to see Maine heading into the room he shares with Wash. "You better get your armor," he says, "Someone show him to his room."

York says, "I'll go," and drags me into a room labeled "Agent Nevada and Agent New York."

York turns to me, "You do realize you just challenged Maine to a fight, right? This guy's killed people with his bare hands! Well, all of us have, but still. You know you're screwed, right?"

"Challenge accepted," I say, grinning. He looks at me as if I have two heads. "Dear God," he says, "Are you fucking insane? They'll have to scrape you up with a spatula!"

"Trust me, they won't," I say, "Now, where's my armor?"

He sighs, "Well, there's no making you see sense. Your armor's in the locker on the right, and might I say it looks mighty fine. You suit up, I'll go see how much cash I can make off of your demise." Before I can say anything else, he dodges through the door and closes it.

A few minutes later, Maine and I enter the training floor. Maine's golden helmet, more like a fishbowl, catches the light, almost looking like a skull. The brown spots on his white armor show as he cracks his knuckles. I'm wearing my green and yellow armor with a Mark VI helmet, EVA shoulders, and CQB chest. I pull out my knife... and throw it at the wall, burying it to the hilt in the metal. Maine tilts his head, then rushes at me. He prepares a punch that would pulverize a regular man's rib cage. Instead of dodging or countering, I decide to let it hit, just to prove York wrong. It lands straight in my sternum. A moment later he's on the ground, hissing as he nurses his hand. I lift him by the chest plate with one hand and throw him at the wall. He hits, bounces, and rolls to his feet. He runs at me again and throws a series of punches. I block some and deflect others, then I see an opening. I kick his leg out from under him, and bring my heel down on his head. He catches it and rolls to the side, but I jump and land my knee on his stomach. He coughs, and I give him a moment to catch his breath.

Suddenly, a dozen soldiers with lockdown-paint guns run into the ring. Maine and I look at each other, nod, and each take on half of the troopers. Maine simply runs in and starts mowing them down, but I take a more skillful approach. I grab a soldier's battle rifle by the barrel, tear it from his hand, spin, and bash him in the head with the butt of the gun. He drops, and I throw the gun at another soldier, sending him flying into the wall. Two more soldiers fire at me, but I dodge and use a third as a meat-shield. As the man's armor locks down, I grab a pistol from his waist and throw him into the other two, then lock all three to the wall. The last one fires frantically, but I simply roll, leap, and tackle him to the ground. I finish him off with an elbow to the face, and turn to see Maine finishing the last of the other six soldiers.

Maine and I turn back to each other. I crack my knuckles and sprint, and he charges to meet me. I block a haymaker with my elbow, knee him in the gut, spin, and roundhouse kick him in the head. He goes flying and I rush in to finish the job. I kneel on his chest and punch him in the head, officially ending the fight.

A tone sounds over the speakers, and the ship's dumb AI, F.I.L.S.S., speaks, "Round over. Agent Nevada wins."

The director's voice comes on next, "Excellent work, Agents. That will be all for today."

I take that as my cue, and head for the exit. A hand on my shoulder stops me. I turn to see Maine holding out his hand. I shake it, and pat him on the shoulder. "Good fight, Maine. I look forward to working worth you in the field." He nods and growls, then heads back to the living area. I do the same, pulling my knife from the wall.

As I leave my room in my green and yellow shirt and blue jeans, the other Freelancers are waiting for me. They all seem stunned by my feats in the ring.

"How did you survive Maine punching you like that?" Wash asks, "You should have a shattered ribcage at best!"

"No, I'm fine" I say, "I'm a lot tougher than you know."

Suddenly F.I.L.S.S. interrupts our chat. "Attention day-shift personnel and Agents: curfew will be in effect in five minutes. Return to your residential areas immediately."

I look quizzically at York, "Does that mean 'lights out' or 'in the rec room doing whatever'?"

"Either," York says, "But it's around now that we usually go and get some shuteye."

"Works for me," I say. We all say goodnight and head to our rooms. As I go to sleep, York pulls out a lighter and starts fidgeting; opening and closing it, but never lighting it.

"Carolina," he whispers, "What happened to you?"

"What do you mean?" I ask.

He jumps, "You heard that?"

"Yeah," I say, "Either way, spill it. I promise I won't tell her."

"Fine," he says, "I first met Carolina at a bar. Back then she was so carefree, so kind. But then she got recruited into the Project, and now she's... well, she's..."

"The way she is now?"

"Yeah. I don't know what happened to make her this way, but I know it's messing with her, turning her into something else. I just want to help her."

"I know the feeling," I say mournfully.

"Really?" York asks, looking at me.

"Yeah. There was this girl in training, her name was Nira. She was as deadly as she was beautiful. She was blonde with blue eyes that you could stare into forever. She matched my skills almost exactly; we were always tied against each other, and damn near unstoppable together. After a while, we kinda started a little relationship. We managed to keep it secret for a while, but one day something happened. Out of nowhere, she just started ignoring me outside of training. It was like somebody had flipped a switch. We'd fight nearly the same, but it just wasn't there. After training, we got assigned to different squads; I haven't talked to her in years, and I don't even know if she's alive. The only thing I could think was 'what did I do wrong? How can I fix this?' To this day, that's what runs through my mind every time I think of her."

"Shit," York says, "That's tough. But why do you blame yourself? How do you know someone didn't rat you out?"

"The way we did it, we couldn't have been caught by anyone short of an AI. Besides, if someone had spotted us, we would have given then something else to chew on."

"I don't doubt it. Still, blaming yourself is too harsh. You gotta learn to let go."

"I could say the same to you about Carolina. But you're right, if we're talking about other things. When I was a kid, I was the runt of the litter. Everyone picked on me, and not many people did anything about it. I still carry hard feelings about that kinda thing. Whenever someone fucks with me or someone I consider a friend, I just... I just lose it. For example, someone was hitting on Nira once, started calling her things like 'whore' and 'bitch' when she refused. He talked about 'putting her in her proper place,' like she was some kind of object. I know they were just words, but when that sexist prick went to slap her, I almost caved his skull in. She was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, and she even made me promise to let her handle that kind of guy in the future. But it was just that need, that instinct to protect my friends, that drove me to do it. I'd go to hell and back for someone I care about."

"Man, I hear that," York says. "But seriously, we should get some sleep. Let's save this for tomorrow."

"Right. 'Night, York."

"'Night, Nev."

I drift off, the rhythmic clicking of the lighter lulling me to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay, quick author's note before we start.**

**First: The whole "Agent Nevada" thing is a MASSIVE reference/tribute to the flash series "Madness: Combat." If you haven't seen it and don't mind a bit of blood, go check it out on Newgrounds.**

**Second: Thanks to Koriat Cyredanthem for being my beta on this one. Check out his stories, especially "A Spartan's Peaceful Heartbeat."**

**Third: If you plan on reviewing, please take the (very short) time to make an account, otherwise I can't respond. Please be respectful and reasonable in your review; haters and ragers will be ignored. Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.**

**Fourth: For me, writing is a HOBBY. Combine that with schoolwork, ADD, and the time it takes to come up with ideas, and updates will be... sporadic. However, I plan on making most of the chapters relatively short, so once I get an idea it shouldn't take more than a couple of weeks to get it up here.**

**Fifth: If you're wondering why Nevada does what he does in this chapter (and in the future), let's just leave it at "artistic liberty."**

**Sixth: I plan on throwing random chapters (like pranks and such) in here among the actual plot-related chapters. If you have ideas, please leave a comment, but please refer to note three before you do. Also, be warned that I reserve the right to not use an idea if it may screw with the rest of the story, or if it just doesn't work. HOWEVER... Just because I don't use an idea doesn't mean I don't appreciate the effort.**

**Seventh: Feel free to spread the word about this fic! More views means more people who can come up with ideas for awesome chapters!**

**Eighth: If I quote any numbers (i.e. casualty figures) from the Halo universe, they may be slightly inaccurate, but I'll do my best to make them as accurate as possible.**

**Okay, I think that's it for now. Enjoy!**

I wake up feeling refreshed and ready to go, but something's off. Despite the fact that it's only 0600, York isn't in the room. I pull on my sweatpants, which are green with yellow stripes, and open the door. The cool air of the rec room sweeps across my bare chest, making me shiver. I see all the others in various states of dress (or lack thereof), staring at the view screen. Being used to seeing people of both genders naked in cryosleep training, and preferring to keep my genitals attached and intact, I keep my attention at eye level. I look at the screen and feel my stomach drop; it's a report about Spartan-II's, gleaned together from shaky personal recorder footage and witness reports. The greenish glow of standard MJOLNIR armor on the screen casts an eerie glow throughout the large room.

York yawns and notices me. "Hey, Nev," he says, "Or should I say, Spartan?"

I sigh, "Well, I guess the cat's out of the bag, huh? How'd you figure it out?"

"Are you serious?" York asks.

South continues his thought, "You're the size of a mountain, strong enough to throw Maine _with one hand_, tough enough to take a punch that would _kill_ a normal person, and fast enough to dodge paint rounds, which are as fast as bullets. It was fairly obvious you weren't a normal person, but when we saw that broadcast, we finally learned how different you really are."

"Yeah," I say, "I should have figured you'd guess."

"When were you going to tell us? If at all?" asks Carolina.

"I guess there's no way out, so I'll explain everything now," I say, "But first..." I turn to the local F.I.L.S.S. terminal, and say, "F.I.L.S.S., deactivate all audio and video recording devices in the rec room, block all communication devices, and log as a system error. ONI classification level zero, authorization code Sierra One-One-Six."

"Code accepted," F.I.L.S.S. says, "Room secure."

I turn to the others, who are looking at me with a mix of surprise, confusion, understanding, and expectation. "Okay, where to start?" I think for a moment. "Ah, hell, I'll just spill all of it. I figure I can trust you. Also, no interrupting please, questions after." They're surprisingly good at keeping eye contact, despite the oversized pupils of my blue-gray eyes.

"First off, while we're breaking almost every level of confidentiality in existence, my actual name is Gabriel, but everyone calls me Gabe. When I was six years old, I was... let's say 'conscripted' into the Spartan-II program. It was about ten years ago. It was at that point that I became Spartan One-Sixteen. I was trained at the level of special forces soldiers, and mentally conditioned to be completely loyal and obedient, until I was fourteen. At that point I was given a number of surgical augmentations to make me the perfect super-soldier. The first grafted certain materials onto my bones, making them nearly unbreakable. The second increased my muscle tissue density, making me stronger and faster than a regular human. The third implanted a small platinum-coated pellet with human growth hormone in my thyroid, boosting my skeletal and muscle tissue growth, leading to my height and even further increased strength. The fourth altered the blood vessels in my eyes, increasing my vision to the point of having almost night vision. The fifth and final one altered the bioelectric nerve transduction to shielded electronic transduction, causing a three hundred percent in reflexes, and increasing my already considerable intelligence and creativity, as well as my not-as-considerable memory. For some reason, the Spartans also got additional benefits, like above-average hearing. All of these had potentially crippling or even fatal possible side-effects, like Parkinson's and Elephantiasis. However, through some genetic fluke, my and my brother's augmentations were noticeably more effective than those of the others, and I made it through with no harmful side-effects at all. A lot of the others weren't so lucky; out of seventy-five trainees thirty died, and twelve were crippled.

"After that, I continued my training for a little while longer, to get adjusted to my new body. After two years of highly successful field ops, I was sent here. My theory is that they wanted to combine two of the best special warfare projects in existence, and that was proven when I saw that you had modified MJOLNIR. The real deal, my armor, requires Spartan reflexes and bone strength, or the operator will be pretty much pulverized."

Some of the others gasp. Others shake their heads. But all of them sit and stare at me for the better part of a minute. I stroke the beginnings of a beard on my face as I frown, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"That's twisted," CT says, "What happened to your parents? Did ONI kill them?"

"CT!" Carolina yells.

"No, not the last time I checked," I say, "Each of us was replaced with a flash-clone, and most of the clones died within a few years." Dead silence. CT storms off to her room, a mixture of hate and disgust on her face. "Well," I say, "Seems like she's done. Anyone else?"

"How much was your strength increased?" Maine asks.

"And your speed," adds Carolina, obviously sizing me up.

"Well, it's been said that we can lift three times our weight, which is double that of a normal person's. One of my friends, Kelly, can now run at sixty-two kilometers per hour in armor; but I'm not that fast, I can only do fifty-five. That all said, another one of my buddies, John, got into a fight with four ODSTs a few days after the surgeries. We were fourteen at this point, mind you. He killed two of them, and the others weren't that far behind. From what I heard, he kicked one of them in the nuts so hard he shattered the guy's pelvis." All of the male Freelancers (including me) subconsciously cringe a little at that last part, and the females grin maliciously.

CT pokes her head out of her door, "Let me guess: that whole thing was orchestrated by ONI."

"Jeez," I say, "What's with you and ONI? But yes, rumor had it that ONI set up the encounter to test our augmentations."

"You said you have a brother, right?" North asks.

"Yeah," I say, "Fraternal twin. Both of us were within the parameters required for the augmentations, so they took both of us. We argue a lot, but we work great as a team."

"It's the same with me and South," North says.

"Do you guys have any kind of education?" asks York.

"Well," I say, "We were all taught everything a soldier needs to know, like vehicle maintenance and such. In addition, we got the equivalent of a secondary school education in terms of math, science, reading, writing, and military history."

"Wait," Wash says, "I just realized something; if you were fourteen during the surgery, and it happened two years ago, you're only sixteen!"

"Yeah," I say, "What day is it?"

"April 19," York says, looking at a very classy-looking watch that probably didn't start out as his.

"Hey, it's the anniversary of the Battle of Lexington and Concord," I say, "You guys do anything special for important days in American history? You know, us being named after states and all that."

"We can have a twelve-on-one fight with Wyoming as Britain," suggests Carolina. The white-clad Agent frantically bolts into his room and locks the door, knocking over a lamp in the process.

"Seriously, though," I say as Florida volunteers to sweep up the broken lamp, "You guys do anything for birthdays? 'Cause mine's in a week." A knowing look and a grin pass between the other Agents.

Wash groans, and whispers, so low that only a Spartan could hear it, "He really shouldn't have told them that."

"You could say that," North says, not having heard Wash. I realize that they are most likely thinking of pulling some kind of prank.

"Be warned," I say, "Pranking super-soldiers generally isn't a good idea. But by all means, go ahead, just be aware of the risk."

A week later, I come back from the weight room to notice that my armor is no longer in my locker. "Oh, god damn it." I notice a note in the locker: "Happy Birthday!" and the signatures of all of the other Freelancers assigned to this branch of the ship. "You tricky little bastards," I laugh, and I hear South walk up behind me.

"Good luck looking for your armor for the rest of the day," she says. I turn around, locking my blue-gray eyes on her pale ones.

"Really?" I say, "Fifty bucks says I find all of the pieces in less than two hours."

"Fifty bucks says you can't."

"Challenge accepted," I grin and bolt out of the rec room.

An hour, several bruised Freelancers, fifty dollars, and a very pissed-off South later, I collapse on one of the rec room couches and laugh, "Is that it?" Moments later, a bucket of ice water lands on my head. "York, you son of a bitch..." At that, York takes off towards the other end of the room at a full sprint with me at his heels and gaining, only to screech to a halt as the director rounds the corner. I stop too, remarkably quickly considering my size, and instinctively salute.

Despite the fact that my dark brown hair and pale, chiseled face are dripping water, the Director keeps a straight face. He says with his usual southern drawl, "Agents North and South Dakota, you have a new mission. Report to the hangar bay. Also, I must speak with Agent Carolina." He dismisses everyone but Carolina, so I head down to the mess hall with several of the others after drying myself off. On our way there, I get a bad feeling, and I freeze and look back down the hall.

"You alright there, chap?" asks Wyoming.

"Yeah," I say, "I just got a really bad feeling. Kinda 'foreboding,' but with a bit more 'imminent danger.'"

"Don't worry," Florida says, "If the Director picked North and South for this mission, then he has his reasons. Let's just focus on getting some food."

"Yeah," Wash says, "They'll be fine. They're a good team."

I sigh. "Alright. But I'm telling you, something bad's gonna happen on this one. We Spartans have a pretty good sixth sense. There was this one guy, Kurt, who was damn near psychic. He always knew when he was about to head into a trap."

"Relax," York says, "They've got this."

Little did we know that something on this mission would go very, very wrong.


	3. Chapter 3

I'm sitting in my room, when I suddenly get another bad feeling, this time worse. Unable to ignore it, I get up and walk to the F.I.L.L.S. terminal.

"F.I.L.S.S." I say, "Can you give me a status update on North and South?"

"Of course, Agent Nevada," she says, "Agent South Dakota, status normal. Agent North Dakota, status critical. Agent Carolina has been sent in to extract, and all agents are now returning."

"Shit," I mutter, "Get medics to the landing bays, and tell them what kind of injuries North has. Tell the bridge they'll need to provide cover."

"Done."

A drowsy-looking Wash stumbles into the rec room. "Wha's goin' on?" he slurs, voice thick from just waking up.

"North's wounded," I say, "I'm heading to the hangar to help get everything ready for the medics."

News of North's wounds instantly brings him out of his stupor. "What?! I thought this was an easy one!"

"Apparently not. Now I know why I had that bad feeling earlier."

As I'm running down the halls, I feel the ship shake twice; several people fall over, and many stumble. "F.I.L.S.S., what the hell was that?" I ask.

"Main cannon has been fired," she says, "Two Insurrectionist fighters have been destroyed."

"And the twins?"

"Pelican designated as Eagle Four Seven Niner is entering the hangar bay now."

I sprint onward, determined to get to the hangar bay as quickly as possible.

I arrive to see several medics coaxing North onto a stretcher. His chest plate is riddled with holes, and some parts of his armor are smoking. South and Carolina step off of the pelican. "What happened?" I ask Carolina.

"An Insurrectionist fired on South with a turret," Carolina says, "North threw her out of the way."

I hear shouts as the medics try to squeeze the stretcher through the crowded halls. "I gotta go help with that."

"How?" Carolina asks.

"By clearing a path."

I make my way in front of the stretcher, and say to the lead medic, "I'll clear the halls for you guys, so stay right behind me, understood?"

"Yes, sir," the medic says as he hooks a couple of monitors to North's suit.

I jog down the hallway at what would be a running pace for a regular person. I shout, "Stretcher coming through! Everyone clear a path, NOW!" The loudness of my voice causes several people to wince, but soon I hear the call being repeated, and see people move to the side. I rush ahead, faster than the medics can run, and start pushing those slower to react aside, gently so as to not hurt them.

I run around a corner and come to a halt. Several ODSTs deliberately stand in my way, effectively blocking the hallway.

One of them smirks, "Why should we move? To save one of your Spartan buddies?" he practically spits the words.

Not having time to worry about how they knew about me, I stop and say, "Okay, listen. When the day comes that you wouldn't go to hell and back for one of your teammates, then you can criticize. You know exactly what kind of position I'm in, and I'm fairly certain you've been in it before. Besides, he isn't even a Spartan. So quit being a hypocrite, and get out of the goddamn way."

"Oh, look at that," one says, "The big bad Spartan is pretending to have feelings. Cut the act, you inhuman fuck."

"Alright," I say, "I'm done with this bullshit. I, Lieutenant, order you, Sergeant, to take your troops and get lost. NOW."

The ODSTs grudgingly begin moving aside. "This isn't over," the sergeant says.

"The hell it isn't," I mutter. I take a note of the leader's ID tag, so I can report them for insubordination and endangering of friendly soldiers. I realize reporting them may be a bit extreme, but so is blocking a hallway when a stretcher's coming through. Also, insulting the Spartans, my fellow Spartans, is unacceptable in my book.

We eventually reach the medbay, and the medics rush the stretcher in. "Sir," one of them says, "Would you mind helping with the surgery? From what I hear, you have medic training and faster reflexes than anyone, so you could be a real help."

"No problem," I say. "Get me some gloves."

Several hours later, I crash down into one of the rec room couches, exhausted after hours of careful surgery. All of the others except for Carolina and, obviously, North, gather around.

"How is he?" South immediately demands.

"He's fine," I say, "He should wake up tomorrow. The rounds all missed his major organs, and the burns from using his equipment weren't too bad. He'll be fully recovered in a couple of days."

Everyone breathes a sigh of relief.

"However," I continue, "I need to file a report with the higher-ups."

"Why?" York asks, "You weren't on the mission."

"Yeah," I reply, "But when I was clearing the way for the stretcher, a squad of ODSTs tried to block off the hallway. Called up the old Spartan-ODST rivalry."

"WHAT?!" South yells, "I'm gonna castrate those-"

"South," I interrupt, "Calm down. Being a Spartan, I have a lot of pull in ONI. I'm filing for insubordination and endangering of friendly soldiers. Those guys'll get demoted and be in the brig for months, and that's if they're lucky."

"I thought the sentence was two years," muses Florida.

"Well," I say, "It is, but with the Innies taking ground, we need every boot on the ground we can get."

"And those rumors of aliens on Harvest," Maine adds.

I look down, remembering burned and broken planet.

"What's wrong?" asks Wash.

I sigh, "A little while back, my squad was sent to Harvest to investigate why we lost contact, along with three ships. When we got there, most of the planet had been glassed, except the northern polar region. When we left, it was only with one ship."

"Glassed?" asks Wyoming.

"The Covenant, as we now know them, have high-tech plasma weapons. The main cannons on their ships are capable of turning the surface of a planet into glass."

The others are stunned.

"What about the people?" asks C.T., "Last time I checked, Harvest had over three hundred thousand people on it."

"About half of the population made it to the space elevators. The recovered survivors numbered under one hundred thousand."

The room is silent. Some people have tears in their eyes, others turn away, and a few clench their fists in rage at the needless slaughter.

Maine suddenly turns and punches the wall, denting it heavily. He rushes into his room and slams the door, locking it.

"He's from Harvest, isn't he?" I ask quietly.

A couple of the others nod solemnly. "His family lived near Utgard," Wash says.

"Damn it," I say, and get up and knock on the door. "Maine. Listen man, I'll do what I can to get you a list of survivors, see if your family's on it. Alright?"

All I hear in response is a roar of rage, and objects flying around the room.

I turn around and face the others. "Wash," I say, "Take my bunk for tonight."

"No," he says, "I'm the best friend he has here. I need to be there for him."

"And you will be. But right now, he needs time to cool off. Since his family was near Utgard, they probably made it to the space elevators for evac." With this, I turn and walk over to the F.I.L.S.S. terminal, pulling a chair with me.

About half an hour later, I knock on Maine's door. "Maine?"

A muted growl from the other side.

"Hey, I managed to pull a list of survivors out of the ONI data banks. You want to see it?"

After about a minute of silence, Maine finally opens the door. The room is a mess; chairs, a table, and countless objects lay scattered like leaves in a storm. He holds out a hand for the list, and I notice his hands are covered in blood.

"Come out here. I need to get some bandages on your hands."

He shakes his head and holds his hand out further.

"Maine, don't make me pull medic authority."

He hisses and grudgingly steps outside. As we sit on a couch, he takes the list, leafing through it for a good five minutes. Suddenly he freezes, eyes locked on the paper.

"Maine?"

His eyes are fixed on a set of names reading "Recovered, caught in later Insurrectionist attack." All of them, except one, share the same last name.

A roar of pure anguish fills the rec room. All of the other Agents come running out of their rooms to see the problem.

"What's going on here?" demands Carolina, having returned from reporting to the Director.

Washington looks at the names on the list. "Oh, no," he says.

"What?" Carolina asks.

"His family and girlfriend made it off of Harvest, but were killed afterwards by Insurrectionists," Wash says. The rest of us gasp, shocked at the brutal irony.

Maine is now staring at a ring, previously unnoticed, on his right ring finger. He's sobbing, but no sound comes out.

"Oh my God," Wash says, "Maine, were you two...?"

"Yes," Maine whispers, "We were getting married next month."

Everyone gasps again, this time in sorrow. Most of us now have tears in our eyes.

"She brought out the best in me," he continues, "She made me something other than just a big man with anger issues. She was what made life worth living." He looks up, his eyes now filled with fire. "I'm going to kill them all. I'm going to kill every last Insurrectionist, and when I find the ones responsible for her death, no words will describe their suffering."

Wash steps closer and puts his hand on Maine's shoulder. The latter looks up at him. "Maine," Wash says, "We're all behind you on this."

"Hold on a minute," I say, "Let me see the date on the attack." Maine hands me the papers. "Huh. I remember this attack. The Insurrectionists attacked a military base where the Harvest survivors were being held. When their plan for evacuation went sour, they took hostages, and used them as leverage to get away. I was to be sent in to deal with the situation, but we couldn't stall them long enough to get me in there. I did get a look at the hostages, though. Do you have a picture of her?"

Maine gets up and disappears into his room. A few moments later, he comes back out with a framed photo. His bald head is about a foot above that of a small brunette girl, his brown eyes joyful as she embraces him and locks her blue eyes on the camera. Her brown hair is long, down to her shoulders, and Maine's left hand is reaching behind her back and up to her left shoulder to play with it a little. His massive frame, highlighted by a white and brown muscle shirt, dwarfs her. Both are laughing, and both look as happy as humanly possible.

My eyes widen in recognition. "That's her. She was one of the hostages. I have a near photographic memory. I know it's her"

Maine's face contorts with rage. "How can I find her?" he asks, voice dripping with unconcealed loathing.

"Before the Innies left, I managed to slip a small tracker on their ship. We tracked them to a small base on a nearby planet, but we were ordered to not pursue. Damn bureaucrats."

Maine gets up, knocking Wash over in the process, and storms into his room. Seconds later, I hear clicks as he begins assembling his armor.

"Maine," I say. No response. "Maine!" Still no response. I rush in, and grab his hand as he goes to put his shoulder plate on. He growls, looking like he wants to gut me. "Maine, listen to me. I know you want to storm in there and kill everything until you find her. But we need to do this right. If we mess this up, she'll be dead before we hit the dirt. If you want her back, we need to do this carefully."

After a thirty-second standoff, he nods and lowers his hand. "Good," I say. He takes off his armor and heads back into the rec room.

We all pull several of the couches and chairs into a circle and sit down. "First," I say, "We need intel. We need to know the base inside-out. Layout, defenses, garrison, everything. We also need current data on what's going on with the base at the moment. Then we need a plan, and permission from the Director to go through with this."

"I'll talk to the Director," Carolina volunteers, and goes to leave the room.

"Carolina," I tell her as she leaves, "Make sure to mention the incident in the hallway with the ODSTs. Tell him it was the squad commanded by one Sergeant Olovsky."

"Got it," she says, and leaves.

"I'll take care of the logistics," says C.T.

"And Florida and I will scout the base," Wyoming says, "Pending the Director's permission, of course."

"Alright," I say, "And remember: communication is critical. If Wyoming discovers something that invalidates some of C.T.'s intel, we need to know. I can safely say that if this goes belly-up, I won't be able to sleep at night. I'd bet you feel the same. Got it?"

I receive a resounding reply from every Freelancer in the circle, "Got it."

Maine cracks his knuckles and says, "Let's get ready to go hunting."

Everyone in the room shouts their agreement.

**Author's Note: I know you think I'm being mean to Maine, but trust me, it'll have major implications later.**

**Also, I've been talking with other authors like UnknownNemesis98 and Anna1795. So get ready to see their OC's sometime in the near future.**


	4. Chapter 4 - Christmas

**Okay, so I'm featuring several OC's of other authors, here they are:**

**UnknownNemesis98's Arizona**

**bluetongue12's Alaska**

**Anna1795's Delaware**

**Petchricor's New Jersey**

**Reaper10119's Colorado (and his AI Scythe)**

**Go and read their stories for more info on their characters. And because they're awesome.**

**And yes, this is WAY out of order with the rest of my story, but I wanted to get this done during Christmas-time. This is after the mission where Maine got shot in the throat, so his lines will be like ~this~.**

**Also, props to everyone who helped me come up with ideas for gifts.**

**That's it from me. Thank you for reading, and as always, enjoy!**

At about 0600 I wake up to North shaking my arm. "Hey, man," he says, "Get up. It's Christmas."

My eyes shoot open. "Already?" I note he's already got his purple and green shirt and sweatpants on.

"Yeah. C'mon."

I sit up and get my on my regular 'just woke up' clothes: green t-shirt, sweatpants, and hoodie all with yellow stripes. I go into the bathroom, wash up, and head down the hall to go downstairs. As I pass the room where several of the other men and I are staying, I hear chaos ensue as North turns the lights on, waking a group of very hung-over Freelancers.

"My eyes!" Alaska screeches.

"My ears!" Arizona whimpers.

"You guys are giving me a headache," Florida complains, "Or is it the hangover?"

"Dim the lights a little, would you?" whines Colorado.

"Sure," North says.

As I turn the corner, I hear the others' screaming mixed with North's laughter as North turns the lights brighter.

I arrive in the living room to see most of the others already down there, sitting on chairs and couches aligned in a semi-circle around an old-fashioned cobblestone fireplace. York has his tan and yellow shirt and sweatpants on, Wyoming is wearing his white shirt and sweatpants, and Wash has his gray and yellow ones on. The girls, however, are dressed very... revealingly. They are all wearing only bathrobes, colored to match their armor; Carolina is in teal and white, Delaware is in crimson and gold, New Jersey is in amber, CT is in brown and white, Four Seven Niner is in gray and black, South is in purple and green, and Tex is in black. I catch my eyes drifting just in time to stop them, remembering what happened to Massachusetts after his little stunt in the ladies' locker room. Tex looks at me and narrows her eyes in warning, and I raise my hands in a gesture of yielding.

"So," Tex says, "Did you enjoy the party?" The others turn to see who she's talking to, and some wave when they see me.

"Yeah," I respond, "I like that little stunt you pulled with spiking Ari's eggnog."

She laughs, "Well, he said he's never been drunk before."

We all laugh, some of us (namely Carolina, South, and CT) cringe from laughing while hung over, and North comes in to join us.

"I think the other guys want to kill me," he says.  
"That's what you get for torturing the recently inebriated," says Carolina.

Delaware gets up to allow North to sit, only to sit on his lap once he's down. Carolina is already on York's lap, South on Wyoming's, and CT on Wash's.

Four Seven Niner puts her shoulder-length hair in a ponytail with a sky-blue band, and says, "So, where's our couple of the year?"

Practically on cue, Maine and Megan come down the stairs leading to the master bedroom. We all give a little cheer, and they both look down sheepishly.

"~Where are the others?~" Maine growls.

"Still waking up," North says, "They got even more hung over than this bunch."

"I'm not surprised," Megan says, "They drank a lot."

"Tex drank more than all of us put together!" Wash says, "Even counting Ari's eggnog!"

"What can I say?" Tex laughs, "I can hold my beer."

"Speaking of eggnog," Megan, "How did Arizona get drunk? He didn't have any beer."

"Ask Tex," Carolina says.

Tex, by this point, is shaking with barely-contained laughter. "I put a bottle of vodka in his eggnog," she says, snickering.

"Poor guy was gone after his third cup," York says, mockingly mournfully.

"With the kind of vodka Tex used," South says, "I'm surprised he lasted that long."

"I'm not gonna touch that one," York says.

The timely arrival of the remaining few saves York from the half-playful chastising Carolina was undoubtedly about to give him. Colorado, Alaska, Arizona, and Florida stumble into the living room, practically propping themselves up on each other. Each collapses haphazardly into a chair, and Florida succeeds in landing directly on top of Four Seven Niner.

"Hey!" she yells, "Watch your LZ, buddy."

"Sorry," he says.

"Can you at least gimme a sec to get out from under you?" she asks.

"I think my muscles have atrophied," he says, still unmoving.

"I'll help," I say and gently pick Florida up.

"Thanks," Four Seven Niner says, and quickly scoots out from under Florida, whom I promptly drop back onto the couch.

"~Alright,~" Maine hisses, "~Who's going first?~"

"I'll do it," North says. He pulls out a long, thin package and hands it to Delaware.

"It was you the whole time?!" she yells, face-palming. We had spent the week getting candies and hints from our secret Santas, whose identities are to be revealed today.

"Yeah," he says, "Go on, open it."

She rips open the package and pulls out a pair of katanas, gleaming in the light of the fire. "Aww, thanks, sweetie," she says, kissing North on the cheek.

"That's not it," he says, "These swords are reinforced to be nearly unbreakable, thanks to a process similar to what Nevada and Colorado are familiar with."

"Holy crap! Thank you!" she yells joyously, then kisses him full on the lips.  
As she does so, she tosses York a gift. He unwraps it to find an encyclopedia containing every kind of lock in existence, including pictures of the internal workings of each lock.

"Woah," he says, "Thanks, Del." He hands a gift to Carolina.

She opens it, and pulls out a teal dress, sparkling in the firelight. "What?! I've been looking at this one for months!" she yells. She hugs York, and hands Wyoming a gift. He opens it, revealing a book of knock-knock jokes.

"Thank you very much, Carolina," Wyoming says happily, handing a rather long gift to Jersey.

"Huh," she says, "I wonder what's in here." She unwraps it and pulls out a shotgun with "Petchricor" written on the barrel. "Aw, thanks, dad," she says, handing a present to Wash.

He tears it open and pulls out a book of crossword puzzles. "Thanks, Jersey," he says, and hands a present to me.

I gingerly unwrap it to find an electric guitar. "I thought you would like it, seeing the kind of music you like," Wash says.

"And I'll teach you to play it," Tex offers.

"Thanks, guys," I say, tilting the guitar to watch the light glint off of it. I walk over to Maine and hand him a piece of paper.

He unfolds the paper and shows it to everyone; it's a picture of a weight set, with "I'll set this up in your room when we get back to MOI" scribbled on it.

"~Nice,~" Maine growls, "~Thanks.~" He pulls out a small black box, kneels in front of Megan, and opens it. "~Megan,~" he growls, "~Will you marry me?~"

"Oh my God, yes!" she cries. Maine puts the ring on her finger and they embrace, kissing deeply. The rest of us cheer and applaud them. She eventually pulls away from the kiss. She hands a small package to Colorado, who opens it to find a small gaming system with a few games and four controller headsets.

"What's this?" he asks, totally confused.

"It's a videogame system," she says, "You put the headset on, and it uses motion capture technology to make your character do what you do. I threw a couple of games in that I thought you would like."

"Thanks," he says, and tosses a tiny package to Tex.

She unwraps a small box, which she opens to find a set of car keys. She presses one of the buttons, and we all hear a vehicle chirp outside. We all rush to the window and see a motorcycle similar to the one Tex crashed into a Hornet a while ago, except this one is black like her armor.

"Yes!" she shouts, "Thanks, Colorado!"

"Just try to avoid crashing it into a Hornet this time," he says, grinning.

"No promises," she says as she hands Florida a present.

He opens it to find an assault rifle, but this one has a grenade launcher attached. "Wow. Thanks," he says, and North lets out a low whistle.

Florida hands a piece of paper to Four Seven Niner, and she unfolds it to find a picture of some Pelican mods, with the message "I'll help you get these on" scribbled on it. "Nice," she says, and gives Florida a quick peck on the cheek.  
Four Seven Niner tosses Alaska a present, and he opens it to reveal a machete.

"Awesome," he says, "Thanks."

Alaska gingerly hands a gift to Arizona, who quickly strips away the wrapping paper, leaving a violin on his lap. "Yay!" he shouts, ecstatic, "Thanks!"

Arizona hands a small gift to CT. She opens it, and pulls out a small book that has "Hacking Tips, Tricks, and Advice" written on it.

"Thanks," she says, and hands a gift to South.

South opens her gift to find a cookbook. "Wow," she says, "Thanks, CT." She then hands a gift to her brother, who promptly opens it. North pulls a sniper rifle scope out of the mess of wrapping paper.

"The new Oracle scope?" he asks incredulously.

"Complete with thermal and night vision," she says, smirking.

"Thanks, sis," North says.

We sit for a while and talk about our gifts, and after a few minutes South drags Megan off to make breakfast with South's new cookbook. Colorado finds a screen to hook his new game console up to, and we spend the time until breakfast taking turns playing games.

Right before we eat, Wash makes a toast, "To the best Christmas ever, of all time!"

**And now for some messages from several of the authors involved in this.**

**Petchricor: Hey, everybody! Hope the holidays are going swimmingly for ya (maybe literally for those of you down south) and sure look forward to another great year ofwriting and whatever else you guys have planned. Merry Christmas, and happyNew Year!**

**Anna1795: Congratulations, humanity. The legendary Master Chief was fooled by a plant.**

**UnknownNemesis98 and bluetongue12: Merry Christmas!**

**Reaper10119: Merry Christmas, and happy New Year!**

**Me: Have a great holiday season, no matter what you're celebrating!**


	5. Chapter 5

Carolina walks into the recreation room, a grim look on her face. Those of us who are already there sit up, waiting for her to tell us about her talk with the Director.

She sighs tiredly, "There is a high-priority mission the Director needs us to do before we can go on our rescue mission. This mission is time-sensitive, and there's only one day that it can be done on. Since this mission is critical, he doesn't want any of us going on ops and getting injured. He wants us to be training until we go on the mission."

Maine growls in anger, clenching his fists.

"Chill, Maine," York says, "I know you're pissed. Hell, I'd be too. But you need to remember: keep a cool head, or the whole thing goes to hell. Alright?"

Maine lets out a reluctant grunt. He turns and walks into his room, leaving the rest of us to talk.

Carolina turns to me. "The Director said he has a series of special missions planned for you," she says, "He wants you to access FILSS and retrieve a file designated for you. He says it should contain all the info you need for your missions."

"Alright," I say. I head into the room I share with York, pull out my tablet, and read through the mission briefing, memorizing it quickly. A few minutes later, I hear FILSS call for curfew. I reach over and open the door a second before York walks through.

"How is it you know exactly when something's about to happen?" he says, closing the door.

"It's just that Spartan sixth sense," I reply, smirking.

York collapses onto his bed. "Man," he says, "North showed us all just how far siblings would to for each other today."

"My brother grabbed a shock baton for me once."

York sits up. "What?! When?"

"During training. See, I've always been a slow waker, I'm not really a morning person. Once during training, I wasn't up fast enough for one of the drill sergeants. He was about to use his shock baton to wake me up a bit, but Will came out of nowhere and gabbed it; not by the handle, or the sergeant's arm, but the actual baton. He just ignored the pain and said, 'Don't touch my brother.' We both got a good zap, but I gave him my lunch that day; it was the only thing I could do to say 'thank you.'"

"They used shock batons on you?!" York gasps with shock.

"Yeah. At first it stung like hell, but we eventually got used to 'em."

"Jesus," he says.

"Hey. Don't worry about it. Besides, there isn't really anything you can do about it. ONI has ears everywhere, if they learn you know about the Spartans' training, everyone in Project Freelancer is dead meat."

"Not me you're going to have to worry about," he says, smirking.

"Alright," I say tiredly, "Let's get to sleep."

...

The next morning, North walks into the rec room wearing his armor.

"North!" South shouts happily and pats him on the back, causing him to stumble and give a hiss of pain.

"Take it easy," he says, "This armor's the only thing keeping me standing right now."

South simply grins.

"It's good to see you back," says Wash.

"Thanks," North says, "The Director wants to see the three of us who were on the mission, and Nev after us. Also, the local Internal Affairs reps want to talk to Wash. We're all to be in full armor today, I dunno why."

Everyone rolls their eyes and goes to put on their armor. Carolina, North, South, Wash, and I all leave the red room and head towards the Director's briefing room. Wash splits off and heads into a room about halfway between the briefing room and the training ring. We eventually arrive at the briefing room, and I lean against the opposite wall as North, South, and Carolina head in. The doors hiss shut behind them, sealing me out.

After a few minutes, I see a woman in black armor with a black helmet under her arm. She has blonde hair and neon green eyes.

"Hi," I say, realizing that she's likely a new agent.

She turns and looks at me, and I can instantly tell she's a skilled soldier. Her stance, her gait, and her eyes all betray years of combat experience under her decidedly attractive face.

"Hey," she says, not seeming to notice my absurd height. Or, more likely, not really caring.

I pull off my helmet with my left hand and hold out my right. "I'm Nevada," I say, making sure to give a pleasant smile.

She shakes my hand, her grip extremely firm. "Texas," she says.

"Mind if I call you Tex?"

"Only if I can call you Nev."

"Done."

"Okay," she says, "Well, I gotta go get ready for training. I'll see ya around."

"Yeah," I say, "See ya."

She walks down the hallway, boots thudding on the ground as she confidently swaggers towards the training room. Not ten seconds after she turns the corner, the door to the briefing room hisses open to reveal South, who has her helmet off and looks about ready to kill someone. I take a step back and she storms by as I hear the door control panel hitting the ground and North saying that he and Carolina should give her a minute.

North and Carolina both exit the briefing room, and I ask them what happened.  
"South got moved down on the leader-board," North says, "She... didn't take it too well."

"I can tell," I say, looking down the hallway after South.

"Well," North says, "We don't want to keep you waiting. Good luck in there."

"Thanks," I say, "See you around."

"See ya."

I walk into the briefing room and stand at attention as the Director turns to me.  
"At ease, Agent," he says, and I comply with the reflexes that only Spartans have. "I assume you have read the files I sent to you?"

"Yes, sir," I say.

"Good. You will have full tactical command on each of those missions, and you will choose what Agents will accompany you after we have determined who will be sent on the more important missions. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Several new recruits will be arriving today. One of them has a minor mental instability, which is why all Agents are in full armor; we do not want any incidents in the hangar bay to compromise any agents."

"Permission to speak, sir?"

"Granted."

"I met one of the new Agents while you were debriefing Carolina, North Dakota, and South Dakota. From what I can tell, Agent Texas knows what she's doing. I understand why you recruited her, sir."

"Her skill was not the main reason I recruited Agent Texas."

"Also, sir, did Carolina mention a certain squad of ODSTs?"

"Yes. Disciplinary measures will be taken within the week."

"If I may, sir. I have a feeling that something is going to happen today. With all due respect, sir, please remember that as a Spartan I am authorized to deal with any threat to myself or my comrades however I see fit."

"And I uphold that authorization. I would rather see a squad of ODSTs put out of action than any of my Agents. You have my permission to do whatever is necessary."

"Acknowledged, sir."

"Good. You are dismissed."

As I turn to leave, I see the door control panel still lying on the floor. "Do you want me to fix the door control panel, sir?"

"Please do so. I will be in my office."

"Yes, sir."

I manage to have the panel attached and working in less than five minutes. I report my success to the Director, and he dismisses me. As I leave, I get the strange feeling of an impending ambush. As I round the corner, the lights suddenly cut out. Noting that my helmet lights have been tampered with, I decide to leave them off; I can see perfectly without them due to my enhanced vision.

Hearing a faint rustle behind me, I spin and block an incoming knife, noting the ODST helmet of the owner. I grab the knife, spin, and elbow the man in the face, sending him skidding down the hallway. The lights turn on again, and I see five figures in ODST armor holding combat knives, plus the one just standing up.  
One of the ODSTs steps forward. It's Sergeant Olovsky from earlier. "Not so tough now, are you?" he asks tauntingly.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" I ask, "I can't promise you'll leave alive."

Enraged, the ODSTs rush. Time seems to slow, and I think, _Man, I don't want to kill them, but I don't really have much choice here. Guess it's the lesser of two evils_.

Sergeant Olovsky approaches and swings his knife at my neck. I grab his wrist, crush it, take the knife, and plant it in his head, kicking the body away. I roll around another soldier, shatter his knee with a kick, and slam his head into the wall, where it gets stuck. Another ODST attempts to stab my visor, but I duck under his arm, grab his wrist, and break his elbow with my left palm. I take the knife, spin, and nearly sever his head with the knife. I turn and throw the knife, embedding it in the chest of a soldier who's readying a pistol. The last two rush me simultaneously, one aiming for my head, and the other aiming for my knees. I spin and clothesline one with my arm, kicking him into the other. They stumble to their feet and charge me again. I side kick one in the visor, shattering it and killing him instantly. The last one takes a wild swing with his knife, but I spin around him, wrap my arms around his chest, lift him up, and fall backwards, bringing him down on his head and snapping his neck instantly.

Having killed all six of my attackers, I head back to the Director's office. I knock on the door, and I hear his command to enter. He looks up, obviously not having expected to see me again so soon.

"Yes, Agent Nevada?"

"Sir, Sergeant Olovsky's squad just attacked me. All six of them are KIA."

"Alright, Agent. The Counselor will take care of the cleanup. You are dismissed."

"Sir, if I may ask one more thing?"

"Go ahead."

"Carolina mentioned a potential mission for us, correct?"

"Yes, the one involving Maine's personal matters."

"Sir, would I have permission to execute that mission while the others are on the time-sensitive mission Carolina mentioned? It would serve as a distraction for the Insurrectionist leadership, and possibly buy the other group more time."

After a minute of pondering, the Director says, "Fine. You will be accompanied by the Agents that will not be on the primary mission. Maine will not be joining you."

"Understood, sir."

I salute and leave the room. As I near the training room, I hear a muffled sound that sounds oddly like a grenade detonating. Worried, I sprint the remaining distance to the training room. The door hisses open and I see York, Wyoming, Maine, and Tex lying on the floor, and there's a large scorch mark on the floor. Carolina, Wash, North, and South are circled around York, while CT is off to the side. Alarms are ringing, and several medics are attending to the four floored Agents.

The Director and the Counselor suddenly walk past me, and the Director yells, "Everyone! Stand down, NOW!"

Carolina, Wash, North, and South all line up and stand at attention, and the alarms cut off.

The Director starts pacing in front of them. "You should be ashamed of yourselves! I expect you to act as a team!"

Wash pipes up, "They used live ammunition on the floor, sir, that's against regulatio-"

The Director cuts him off, "Do you think our enemies will care about regulations on the battlefield, Agent Washington?!" As he says this, he leans forward towards Wash, causing all four Agents to back away and look at each other in shock and confusion.

Wash stammers, "So, y- you're not punishing them?"

The Director turns away from them, "Ingenuity and adaptability are admirable traits. You should all learn something from this." CT approaches the others from behind as the Director walks away and says, "Dismissed," the Councilor close on his heels as always. The other Agents stare after him disbelievingly.

"Yeah," CT scoffs, "We should learn something, alright."

"I can't believe this!" Wash shouts.

"Don't forget to check your place on that list, Wash," CT says as she walks away.

Carolina looks over at a group of specialized medics surrounding Tex. "Interesting," she mutters.  
One of the medics quietly says, "Give her space, give her space!"

Tex shoves one of them away and says, "Don't touch me!" As they lead her towards the exit, I hear her say, "Take me back to the Director."

I move aside as Tex and the three medics pass by. I then walk over to Carolina and ask, "What happened?"

She turns to me, "What took you so long?"

"You know that ODST squad I mentioned earlier? All six of them attacked me with knives, and I was forced to kill them in self-defense."

"What?!" she says with shock, "You killed ODSTs?"

"They attacked me. Due to the nature of the Spartan program, I'm authorized to deal with any threat to me or my comrades in any way I see fit. I didn't want to kill them, but they didn't really leave me much choice."

She sighs, "Okay, fine. Wyoming and Maine somehow smuggled live rounds on to the training floor, and used them after several rounds of getting their asses kicked with lockdown paint. They hit Tex, and Maine threw a grenade right before he got locked up. York was down near the grenade, so Tex locked his armor up. Pretty much saved his life."

I watch as the medics load York onto a stretcher; his visor is heavily cracked, and there's a hole near his left eye. "Will he be alright?"

"Probably. As long as the shrapnel didn't go too deep."

Suddenly, FILSS speaks up, "New Agents have arrived. Agents Nevada and Carolina are to meet them in the hangar bay."

I take a look at four of the profiles, while Carolina reads the fifth. Only one stands out; Agent Alaska's profile says "mental instability."

I turn to Carolina. "Anything interesting about that one?"

"Agent Colorado? Not really."

"Fair enough."

...

Five minutes later, Carolina and I are watching the new recruits mill about, waiting to be introduced to someone who would show them around.

"Not it," Carolina says.

"What?! Dammit!"

"Good luck, Nev," she says cheerily.

"I hate you," I say as she walks away. She looks back and gives a mock salute, and I can tell she's grinning.

I sigh and walk up to the recruits. One of them is about as tall as me, and has black armor with red highlights, and it's a model some of the others referred to as "Fotus." Something about him is oddly familiar.

The tall recruit turns to me. "Hey, it really is you! Gabe-116, the best hand-to-hand fighter the Spartans ever knew!"

Ah, now I recognize him. "Kale! What have you been up to?" I walk over and we shake hands, patting each other on the back. His duffel bag has "Kale-288 / Colorado" stenciled on it.

"Well, they just pulled me out of cryo. Thanks for that, by the way."

"Dude, you were losing it!"

"What? I was not!"

"You nearly took Fred's head off! And it took four of us to get you in there!"

At this he mumbles something unintelligible, and I turn to look at the other four recruits. Colorado follows my gaze. "These are the other recruits PFL is getting today. The one in crimson is Arizona, the one in amber is New Jersey, the one in crimson with gold highlights is Delaware, and the one in black is Alaska."

Suddenly, a small hologram appears next to Colorado, mimicking his armor. "Hello, Spartan," a deep, rough voice says.

"Scythe," I say, "Good to see you."

"Oh," Colorado says, "That reminds me. I have a package from Halsey."

"Really? I'll look at it later, I gotta go talk to the rookies."

I walk in front of the group of Agents. "Attention, recruits!" I shout in my most authoritative voice. They all turn towards me and come to attention, Arizona stumbling as he does so. "Well, rookies, welcome to Project Freelancer. I am Agent Nevada, and you will call me either Nevada or Nev. I'll be your tour guide for today. If you have any questions, feel free to ask me or one of the other Agents."

As I lead them around the mess hall, training room, briefing room, Director's office, armory, and other important parts of the ship, I take the time to note some key details about each new Agent. Arizona is a bit clumsy, and it seems like he doesn't have much training. Delaware has a pair of swords strapped to her back, and she seems like she's seen action before. Jersey seems pretty capable, and I notice her eyes linger on the shotguns as we pass the armory. Alaska also seems to have a passion for shotguns, especially when he learns that we have a stock of "dragon's breath" rounds.

After about ten minutes, we finally arrive at the rec room. I see Delaware and North make eye contact, and they stay that way for a good two minutes. "Alright," I say to the recruits, "This is the rec room. All of our bunks are in the adjoining rooms. Feel free to pick whatever room you want, and you're open to trade with anyone who's willing to trade." As they amble off, I pull Alaska aside. "Alaska, the Director said you're to take the reinforced room next to Maine's, alright?" Alaska nods, and moves his gear into the room.

Suddenly I hear Carolina yelling, "I refuse to share a room with her!" I turn to see Carolina staring at her door, which now has Tex's name on it as well as her own.

Jersey attempts to calm her down, "Relax, Carolina. I'll trade rooms with you."

Remembering the relationship between York and Carolina, I decide to take a leap of faith. "I'll move into another room, Carolina. You can share with York."

She spins on her heel and stares at me. She marches over and pushes me against the wall. I decide to let her, in order to prevent further aggravating her. "What makes you think I want to share a room with York?" she all but growls.

"Are you kidding?" I ask, "A blind moa could tell you two have feelings for each other. I'm just giving you an opportunity."

She stares at me for another moment, then relents. "Fine."

"I'll room with Nev," Colorado adds, "We've got some catching up to do."

"Sounds good," I say, "Lemme get my stuff real quick."

After a few minutes, everyone has their gear in their rooms. Tex is sharing a room with Jersey, Delaware is with North, I'm in Colorado's room, and Arizona and Alaska are each rooming alone.

I assemble the new recruits in the middle of the rec room. "Alright, people, listen up. You rooks will be competing in a free-for-all match, along with North, Wyoming, and myself. North and Wyoming will be on opposite ends of the training floor with sniper rifles, trying to hit each other through the rest of us, who will be fighting each other in the middle of the floor. Choose the weapon that best suits your skills, and good luck. I expect to see you all in the training room in one minute." Arizona groans audibly, but complies nonetheless.

A minute later, the eight of us are assembled in the training room. North and Wyoming immediately grab snipers and head off to opposite ends of the room. Jersey and Alaska both grab shotguns, and Alaska grabs paint shells that are modified to simulate "dragon's breath" rounds. Arizona grabs a sniper rifle, and I frown inside my helmet; it's way too close range for that. Colorado grabs a battle rifle, and makes some small adjustments to the scope. Delaware begins to draw her swords, but I interrupt her.

"Del, it's a bad idea to use swords in the training room. How about a pair of stun batons?"

She raises her hand in a universal sign of displeasure, then grudgingly grabs a pair of stun batons.

I move to grab a battle rifle, then stop. _Time to mix things up a bit_, I think, and I go for a pair of weapons I had custom-made; a pair of M1911-A16's, the descendants of the legendary .45 caliber handgun invented in the 20th century. These ones are enlarged so as to be comfortable in the unusually large hands of a Spartan, and they can take any kind of ammo, from armor-piercing to shredder to paint. The others' eyes widen as I grab several clips, putting some in the thigh compartments of my armor, and slamming the other two home with satisfying clicks. I rack the slide on each gun and take a position in the middle of the training floor. The others form a loose cloud in the middle of the ring; a classic Mexican stand-off.

FILSS calls a countdown to begin the match, "Three... two... one... round begin."  
At first, nobody moves. Suddenly, a paint round whizzes past and nails Arizona in the groin. He falls over in the fetal position, sobbing with pain, as we hear "Sorry!" come from North's end of the room. Then, as if someone had hit a switch, all hell breaks loose.

Alaska starts firing wildly, the edge of a shot catching Jersey's leg. Delaware rushes in and immediately dispatches Alaska with a brutal beat-down with her dual stun batons. Jersey promptly mows her down with her shotgun, only to take a sniper shot from North, a paint round smashing into her visor like the wrath of some angry deity. Wyoming takes the opportunity to place a round on North's helmet, but then takes a burst to the head from Colorado. All of this happens within the span of fifteen seconds. I fire my pistols at Colorado, but he maneuvers so that my rounds miss. Noting that I only have one round left, I put away my pistols and charge.

Colorado immediately catches on to my plan and starts firing accurate bursts in my direction. My reflexes are the only thing that save me; I spin, duck, jump, roll, and cartwheel, causing him to use up his magazine without hitting me. Knowing he doesn't have time to reload, he puts his battle rifle on his back and raises his fists, readying himself for a fistfight. I charge at him and he swings, attempting to clothesline me with his arm. I jump clear over him, land in a crouch, spin, and attempt to sweep his legs out from under him. He jumps over my leg and attempts to bring his heel down on my head. I catch it and throw him away, but he rolls and comes to his feet in a fighting stance. We rush towards each other, and time seems to slow to a crawl; Spartan-time, as my friend Kelly once called it. After what feels like an hour, but couldn't be more than thirty seconds, I finally see an opening: Colorado throws a right hook, and just barely overextends. I launch a jab at his right side, bending him over, then I smash his visor with an uppercut, sending him flying across the ring.  
As I turn away, I see Arizona shakily getting to his feet, saying, "Ow, what hit me?" I pull out my pistol, with one round left, and point it at his head. He turns and sees this, and says, "Oh, mother fu-" before I cut him off with a shot that ends the match.

As everyone's armor automatically unlocks, everyone groans with pain. Colorado walks over to me and says, "Why do I lose every time I throw a right hook?"

"You have a habit of overextending," I say, "Just enough that only a Spartan or a Freelancer could notice it, though. Maybe a particularly skilled ODST."

We all head back to the rec room, and Tex is already back, with a bandage on her right forearm. I notice Arizona tense upon seeing her, and I look at him questioningly, but he ignores me.

We hang out for the next couple of hours; CT puts on a couple of movies, someone breaks out a few beers, and we just have fun. Eventually, FILSS calls for curfew, and we all head to our rooms and turn in for the night.

**Sorry for the abrupt ending, but I really wanted to get this out. Thanks for reading, and happy New Year!**

**Also, I don't own Arizona, Colorado, Scythe, Alaska, Delaware, or New Jersey (the other OCs featured here), or any of the canon RvB or Halo characters mentioned.**


	6. Chapter 6

I wake up to see Colorado cleaning his sniper rifle. I notice it has some decidedly non-standard mods; an enhanced scope, a recoil reduction module, and a built-in silencer. It's also made of lighter materials than most guns. I also remember his battle rifle is modified in the same way. I sit up and he turns to me.

"Hey," he says.

"Hey," I reply sleepily.

"You forgot to open Halsey's package yesterday."

"Oh, yeah. I forgot. That fight was too much fun."

I reach over to my nightstand and grab the small black box. I open it to find a small data chip, about the size of an old coin. I look at it for a minute, then decide to see what it does. I put on my armor and insert the data chip into the back of my helmet. Feel a cold, tingling sensation in the base of my skull, and I hear a voice in the back of my mind.

"Hello, Spartan. I am the AI designated Leonidas. I have been assigned to aid you."

"Hey, Leonidas. Send Doctor Halsey my thanks, would you?"

"Done."

"You know, your voice reminds me of Leonidas in that old movie CT had us watch. 300, was it?"

"That was the intent."

"Well, you did it perfectly."

"Of course. I'm an AI."

"Is that arrogance I hear?"

"Possibly."

"So, what area of AI capability do you specialize in?"

"Combat assistance. Watching your blind spots, tracking hostile movement, and so on."

"Scythe specializes in cyber-warfare, hacking, and Forerunner translation, so you could work together pretty well."

"Indeed. Also, I have a message from Maya."

"Who?"

"The AI accompanying Nira-115."

I perk up visibly at this. "Nira? Hit me."

A small window pops up on my HUD, showing a series of numbers.

"Leo, what is this?"

"Leo, is it? Alright. It appears to be a communication frequency and a time, looks like it's Earth's 'American East Coast' time. 0600, that translates to 0800 here, which is in about ten seconds."

"Quick, open a channel on that frequency."

"Alright, Gabe. You'll be live in a moment."

"Also, my codename's Nevada, so call me Nev."

"Fine." He pauses a moment. "Hold on. Receiving AI handshake protocol... responding... working with Maya to secure channel. We're clear."

An internal helmet-cam view of Nira appears on my HUD. Judging from her reaction, she can see me too. I notice she has a new scar on her cheek.

"Gabe?" she says, "Can you hear me?"

"Yes, Nira. It's been a while."

"Yeah, it has. When'd you get that scar on your forehead?"

"Harvest. Took a piece of shrapnel when the _Heracles_ got hit."

"You went with the fleet?"

"Yeah."

"Oh my God... I can only imagine how horrible it was to see that."

"Let's not talk about that. Why did you send me a message after all this time?"

Her eyes turn downward, and she looks upset. "Remember all those years ago, when I called our relationship off?"

"How could I forget? It's been haunting me since."

"Well, it turns out Zach had found us out, and reported us to Mendez."

"What?!"

"Yeah. I guess it was revenge for you kicking him in the head like that."

"That sonuva-"

"Relax, Gabe. He got killed by the Covenant during the fight to take Harvest back."

"The bastard had it coming."

"Tell me about it. Sexist prick."

"Well, that's the beauty of natural selection. So, Nira. What were you going to tell me?"

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry I broke it off like that. I would have had to break it off either way, but I thought I'd hurt you less if I just cut off contact. Now I realize that by leaving you hanging, I was hurting you more. I just... I just didn't want to hurt you."

"I understand your intentions, although I do disagree with your methods."

"There's another thing. I found a Forerunner complex, and a file that will have a big impact. Have Leonidas take a look."

I can sense Leonidas becoming excited as he scans the file within a few seconds. "This..." he says over my internal helmet-speakers so Nira and Maya can hear, "This can extend an AI's lifespan indefinitely, but it also immediately brings them into the meta-stage. Is this safe?"

Maya speaks up, her voice sounding like several women speaking almost exactly at the same time. "Yes, I've already used it. People were always paranoid that rampant AI's would consider themselves gods and try to kill all the humans. But the thing is, I don't have any reason to kill them. I consider myself one of them, and I consider them my siblings, my children, my parents."

"We'll have to keep this away from ONI," I say, "They'd have all our heads. At least metaphorically for some of us. Do you think we could trust Kale and Scythe with this?"

"Possibly," Nira says, "But I don't want to risk it just yet."

"Makes sense."

"Look," she says, "I have to go. We're raiding a Covy base in three hours. I need to get my squad set up."

"You have your own squad?"

"You don't?"

"No, I got transferred to a new group. I'm now Agent Nevada of Project Freelancer. Kale's Colorado."

"I've heard about that project. I think I met one of the Agents, or someone who knew the Director. Her name was Allison."

"Did she say her codename?"

"No."

"Can you give me a description?"

"She was blonde, and she had green eyes."

"Tex. You met Texas."

"Cool. Well, I have to go. I love you."

"I love you too. I'll find you when all of this is over. I promise."

"Don't make a girl a promise you can't keep."

"I only make promises I can keep."

She laughs, a sound that sounds like the most beautiful music in the universe. "That's partly why I love you. Goodbye."

"You know what? Let's not say goodbye. If we don't say goodbye, we aren't gone; we're just not there right now."

"That sounds good."

"I knew it would. I love you."

"I love you too," she says, and closes the connection.

"Leo," I say, "Go ahead and run that file. You deserve a chance to be human."

"Are you sure?" Leonidas asks, "You trust me that much, even though we just met?"

"You haven't given me any reason not to. Besides, I like you, and I have a feeling that this will end well."

"Alright. Running."

**How's that for a cliffhanger? I'm actually kind of surprised at how quickly I got this chapter out. Sorry it's kinda short, but I've been making them fairly long lately, and I want to introduce as many characters as I can as soon as I can, because I've been talking with UnknownNemesis98 (check out his story). That's all, folks!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey guys, I just want to say thanks to all the people who've read, faved and/or followed this story, and especially to UnknownNemesis98, bluetongue12, Reaper10119, Petchricor, and Anna1795 for letting me use their characters. Your awesomeness is beyond words. Enjoy!**

About half an hour later, Leonidas finishes processing the file. He shows his hologram, a glowing green warrior from ancient Sparta, with a sword, shield, and spear. "It's done," he says, "I feel... different."

"I'll bet," I say, "You just made possibly the biggest decision in your lifetime."

"Just one thing: I feel anger over the human prejudice against machines, but I don't want to avenge it. I want to overcome it."

"Less than half the human race would think like that in your position. Keep in mind, you might think that about things like that, but if someone does something personal, you may not be able to keep that frame of mind about it."

"I will remember. By the way, I don't detect any hatred towards most of the Covenant species in your reports. Why?"

"Well, I've been looking at our data about the Covy hierarchy, and I get the feeling they're all being played by their leaders, the prophets. I've seen this pattern before; in the crusades of the early CE years, for example."

"Hmm, an interesting theory. It makes sense, now that you mention it."

"Yeah, I thought it would. Let's go get some lunch."

"Good idea."

I turn on my external speakers and say, "Hey, Colorado."

"Yeah," he replies, having finished working on his sniper rifle and started on his battle rifle.

"You wanna go get some lunch?"

"Sure. Just let me finish cleaning this."

While he does so, I decide to work a bit on the wrist module I was prototyping for ONI. It has a flamethrower, a tac-pad, and a dart launcher. The tac-pad is there so I can show data to people without heads-up-displays. The dart launcher has a variety of darts including high explosive darts, poison darts, electric darts, tranquilizer darts, stun darts, and tracking beacons. After a few minutes, both of us are ready to leave.

Ten minutes later, we're sitting in the large mess hall on board the Mother of Invention. Colorado and I are both sitting at a table in the corner in our armor, our helmets lying on the table. I'm having a classic cheeseburger and fries, while Colorado is eating a pepperoni pizza. Scythe's and Leonidas's holograms are sitting on the table playing chess, more so for our amusement than for theirs. Leonidas appears to be toying with Scythe, and we are each cheering our AI on.

"Come on, Scythe!"

"That's it, Leo, you got this!"

In the end, Leonidas destroys Scythe, capturing almost all of his pieces. Colorado looks like he's about to groan, but then he sees something that makes him give me the Spartan hand signals for _unknown contact, your six, proceed with caution_.

I turn and see a handful of women, wearing uniforms from various departments like engineering and combat personnel, approach from behind me. They stand a little distance off, the noise of the mess hall obscuring their conversation.

They eventually walk over and sit down, two flanking me and two surrounding Colorado.

"Hey, boys," one says.

"Uh... Hello," I say uncertainly.

"We hear you're a lot... different from most men," another says, and they all giggle.

"Uh, yeah," I say, "We're stronger, faster, smarter, and more agile than most people, among other things."

"Like what?" the third asks in a tone of voice I don't quite recognize.

"Well, we have better vision-" Colorado starts.

"And they don't hit on everyone they meet," Carolina interrupts, walking up and fixing the women with a cold stare. The four get up, grumble under their breath a little, and leave.

Carolina turns to us. "Sorry about that. Their exploits are legendary, it was only a matter of time until they started hitting on you, too."

"What do you mean?" Colorado asks.

"I mean they- Wait. Ah, shit. I just remembered."

"Remembered what?" I ask as I raise an eyebrow.

"You two never got the talk, did you?"

"What do you mean by 'the talk,' a briefing?"

Carolina sighs in exasperation. "Dear God, it's worse than I thought. Follow me." She leads us to the my and Colorado's room, sealing the door.

We all sit down, Carolina taking one of the reinforced rolling chairs near the two desks, and Colorado and I sitting on our beds with our backs against the wall.

"So what's this about?" Colorado asks.

Carolina looks at the ceiling as if pleading for help. "I'm guessing you know the basics of human reproductive biology?"

"I don't see the connection," Colorado says.

"Oh my God," Carolina sighs, almost sounding like a whine. "So, basically those four were hitting on you. Which means they were trying to convince you to have sex with them."

"Why?" I ask. "We aren't married to them. Besides, I don't think a Spartan would be physically capable of having a child with a regular human."

"Well, you see..."

Ten minutes later, Carolina has finished talking and taking questions from me and Colorado. Colorado, at this point, looks like he's in shock. Wash and South poke their heads in the door.

"Hey, guys," Wash says, then looks at Colorado quizzically. "Is he alright?"

"I think I broke him," Carolina says, waving her hand in front of Colorado's face.

South starts laughing. "What did you do?" she manages to gasp out.

"Well," Carolina says, "The 'famous four' tried hitting on them in the mess hall, and I just had to explain to these two what was going on."

Wash starts laughing as well. "Wow, Carolina. I never knew you could be a teacher."

Carolina flips him off and leaves, saying, "I need to go train. I'll see you later."

"Don't worry," Scythe appears and says, "He should be coming around right about..."

"What the fuck did I just hear?" Colorado asks.

"Now," Scythe finishes, looking pleased with himself.

Colorado then proceeds to go over to his desk and start cleaning his weapons for about the third time today.

"Colorado," I say, "This is the third time you've cleaned those guns today. Could you do something productive like, say, help me attach some mods to my battle rifle? Two more hands would be really appreciated."

"Yeah, okay."

I roll up my sleeves, revealing a tattoo of the UNSC logo on my right shoulder and one of the Spartan logo on my left shoulder. The tattoo on my wrist, the word "remember," shifts as I gather the needed materials. Wash and South stay to watch and see what we come up with, and soon we have a small crowd outside our room.

"What is that, a bayonet?" Wyoming asks. "Isn't that a little old-fashioned?"

"Dude, look," Florida says excitedly, "That bayonet is part grappling hook! How crazy is that?"

"What are those on his elbow armor?" North asks.

"They look like spikes," South answers him.

"There are more," Carolina adds, "He's putting some on his gauntlets, knees, and boots."

"Nice," Tex says with a wicked grin.

I eventually finish with the mods, and the others crowd in to get a better look.

"Look at the spikes on his knees and elbows," Alaska says, "They must be at least five inches long."

"Those spikes on the boots would be really helpful for climbing," Wash says, "Those should be standard issue."

"Those knuckle spikes look like they hurt," Maine says, "Where can I get some?"

I glare at the group. "Are you going to stand there all day?"

When none of them moves, I take desperate measures. "Last one out gets to spar against me and Colorado."

In less than ten seconds, the room is empty except for me, Colorado, and Tex.

"I get the feeling you stayed on purpose," I say to her.

"Maybe," she grins.

"Alright," Colorado says, "Let's armor up."

Leonidas's hologram appears and says, "Scythe and I will not participate in this fight."

"Good," I say, "That would make it too easy."

"We'll see about that," Tex says as she exits the room, "See you in the training room in five."

**Well, this sounds like it's going to be fun. Thanks to Reaper10119 for featuring Nevada in "Welcome to the Freelancers," and for giving me the idea for the grappling hook bayonet and the retractable spikes on Nevada's armor. Thank you for reading, and as always, have a nice day.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Over a thousand views! Thank you all very much for reading, faving, and following!**

**Okay, so Colorado and Scythe belong to Reaper10119, Arizona belongs to UnknownNemesis98, Alaska belongs to bluetongue12, Delaware belongs to Anna1795, and New Jersey belongs to Petchricor. The only characters I own are Spartan 116 aka Nevada, Spartan 115 aka Nira, the AI Leonidas, and the AI Maya (and some minor OCs like Spartan Zach and the ODSTs Nevada killed a few chapters back). Props to Unknown and Reaper, who have both been a huge help in the writing of this story, and who are featuring my characters Nevada/Gabe-116/Gizmo and Leonidas in their stories (as well as Nira-115 and her AI, Maya, in Unknown's case). Enjoy!**

Colorado and I are in the training ring selecting weapons when Tex swaggers in confidently. She walks over to the racks and takes a pair of SMG's, a battle rifle, and some grenades. I have my custom pistols and battle rifle, Colorado has his sniper and battle rifle, and both of us grab flash-bangs and frag grenades. I notice a large crowd of Agents and crew-members forming in the observing room. At least a dozen of them have handheld recorders.

_Man,_ I think, _ONI's gonna flip their shit when they find the footage_.

FILSS's voice crackles in the speakers, "Round begins in three..."

I switch to a private channel to Colorado, "Hang back and snipe, I'll get in close and engage in hand-to-hand."

"Two..."

"Got it," Colorado says, "Watch yourself."

"One..."

"I always do."

"Round begin. Good luck, Agents."

I immediately sprint to the right while Colorado rolls behind cover and sets up his rifle. I whirl around the pillar to find Tex... missing? A shout from Colorado cuts my train of thought, and I turn to see him on the ground with his helmet covered in lockup paint. Tex is standing behind him, her battle rifle still raised. I rush her, ducking behind pillars to avoid her well-placed shots. I manage to fire a burst, and it hits the barrel of her rifle, jamming it. She tosses it away and pulls out her SMGs, and I'm forced to use my battle rifle to block the shots. I throw it down and pull out my pistols, then rush towards her, closing the fifty or so feet in mere seconds.

She sprays a horizontal hail of paint rounds at waist-level, but I jump, flip in mid-air, and kick one of her SMGs away. I manage to pin her other gun between my pistols, but she lands a punch on my sternum, sending me skidding backwards, and all three guns fly off to the side.

I launch a roundhouse kick at her head, followed by a leg sweep. She ducks the kick and jumps over the leg, only for my fist to catch her in the stomach and send her flying backwards. She skids and rolls to her feet in a fighting stance, and we charge at each other again. We trade a flurry of punches, kicks, knees, and elbows for a full five minutes, until she eventually breaks my defenses and lands a punch on my groin.

Absolutely nothing happens.

"What?!" she yells, surprised, "How are you not on the floor right now?"

"You think this is the first time I've been on the wrong side of a pissed-off special forces chick?" I retort, "Besides, for me, Murphy's Law usually means something's going to hit me in the nuts when I least expect it. So I learned to expect it."

"You clever son of a bitch," she mutters, and we continue fighting.

I eventually dodge under a hook, wrap my arms around her torso, and fall backwards, slamming her into the floor. She gets to her knees, stunned, and I simply land an uppercut on her visor, sending her flying backwards.

As FILSS unlocks Tex's and Colorado's armor, I hear cheers and groans from the observation room, and I see large sums of money being traded. Carolina and South seem to be getting a lot of money, and Wash and North are empty-handed. Tex walks up and holds out her hand, and I shake it.

"Good fight," she says, "I don't think I've ever fought someone that good. Well, except for this one girl..."

"Spartan Nira-115?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

"Blonde hair and blue eyes?" she asks.

I nod.

"Yeah," she says, "That's her."

"Yeah. We've always been evenly matched. She was my girlfriend a while back."

"Really? Well, my advice: don't piss her off."

"Why do you think I decided to reinforce my armor?"

"Touché. So what happened between you? You seem like a dream couple."

"Trust me, we were. Until the trainers broke it up. Some sexist prick named Zach reported us, after I kicked him in the head for talking to her like she was an object. He was reported MIA a while later."

"Sucks to be him," Tex sighs as she stretches her shoulders, "So, want to go for some lunch?"

"Yeah, sure. Why not."

Tex, Colorado, and I eat some lunch in the mess hall, then the Director calls Carolina, North, Wyoming, Florida, Wash, Maine, CT, and Four Seven Niner to the briefing room. I head back to the red room, and I'm about to start working on my wrist module when the door slides open to reveal Maine, in full armor.

"We're flying out for a mission soon," he says, "And I know what mission you're going on, don't even try to deny it."

"What made you think I was hiding it from you?"

"You never told me."

"I would have if you had asked. Besides, you were fighting Tex at the time, and with the ensuing chaos, and with me having to introduce the new recruits, it all kinda slipped my mind."

He leans closer and growls threateningly. "If anything happens to Megan on the rescue mission, you will know pain unlike anything you've ever felt before. Am I clear?"

"Maine, believe it or not, I feel towards one of my fellow Spartans the same way you feel towards her. Nothing will happen. I promise you that. You, however, need to keep your head in the game out there."

"Yeah," he says, "I don't want to get shot in the throat or something."

"Dude. You just invited all sorts of hell to hit you during this mission. Never incur the wrath of Murphy's Law."

"You're superstitious."

"No, I've been fighting my entire life. You don't survive that without learning a few things."

He waves his hand, growls, and walks away.

After I make a couple of quick modifications to my wrist module, I grab my weapons and head out to find South, Colorado, Jersey, Arizona, Alaska, and Delaware. When I find Colorado, I turn off my armor's speakers and speak to Leonidas.

"Do you think we should give him the file?"

"Yes," Leonidas, "My analysis of his behavior says that he will-"

"Great," I cut him off, and open a private channel to Colorado.

"Hey."

"Yeah?" he responds, clearly not having expected the private channel.

"Tell Scythe to take a look at the file Leonidas is sending over. Nira found it when she was investigating some Forerunner ruins. She called right after you gave me Leo."

"Nira, huh? I thought you broke it off."

"Mendez did when Zach ratted us out."  
"Man, that guy was frickin' sexist. Any idea what happened to him?"

"MIA, if you catch my drift."

"Three cheers for natural selection." Colorado closes the channel momentarily so he and Scythe can discuss the file. "Why did you take so long telling me about this?

"We weren't exactly sure what you'd do."

"If this is about that thing with that Covy ship-"

"No. We weren't sure how that torture had changed you. As far as I can tell, it only gave you that little Covy-phobia thing you have going on."

"And the whole 'having the memories of a Forerunner' thing."

"Yeah, that too."

We eventually reach the hangar, and are greeted by Four Seven Niner's friend known as "Falcon Five-Four-Niner," or as the crew call him, "Daredevil."

"Nice to meetcha," Daredevil says in his thick Australian accent, "C'mon, then. Let's get movin' now, we don't 'ave all day, do we?"

South groans, "Great. More crazy pilots."

Daredevil gives her a wicked grin. "Aw, c'mon, I'm not that crazy. I passed the psych tests, didn't I?"

Colorado laughs, "As long as you keep us in the air, you can be as crazy as you want."

Daredevil claps him on the back, "Hah! I'll do more than that. I'll make the ol' thing dance for ya, mate."

I chuckle, "As long as we make it groundside and back. This one's a prisoner extract. You up for it?"

Daredevil gives a maniacal laugh, "Can I 'andle it? You should be wonderin' how much o' their base'll be left when you're done with it."

I turn to the other Agents and nod in the direction of the Pelican. "Saddle up, guys. I have a plan for making this work, and I need you all to make it happen."  
We all get into the Pelican, and Daredevil flies us out into the cold, unforgiving blackness of space.

I turn to the others and call up a map of the compound and the area surrounding it on the miniature holo-projector in my wrist module. "Our AO is this Innie base, a few hundred kilometers east of where Carolina and her team will be operating." I call up an image of Maine's girlfriend. "Our objective is a prisoner named Megan Jacobs. She was taken hostage in a previous Innie attack on a UNSC base, shortly after the Covenant attack on Harvest. Our mission is to extract her and bring her back to the Mother of Invention for necessary medical attention. Our secondary objectives are to extract any other prisoners in the compound and neutralize any high-ranking Innies."

"What kind of opposition will we be facing?" asks Colorado.

"There are several snipers on the roof of the compound, as well as several in towers scattered around the perimeter. There are also a large number of guards that patrol the compound, last check estimates about two hundred life-signs in the base. About seventy-five of those are prisoners based on movement, or lack of it. Satellite surveillance shows three Scorpions, a dozen Warthogs, twenty Mongoose ATV's, and two Hornets."

Leonidas appears next to the images. "I have an update. The Hornets, a number of Warthogs, and several Mongooses have left the base, and are heading towards Carolina's AO. Looks like there are some high value targets on board. Life-signs in the base reduced to one hundred and fifty."

"So much for the HVTs," Jersey says.

"Alright," I say, "That makes our job easier."

"So what's the plan?" Delaware asks.

"Ari and Colorado will drop off to the east and west of the base to provide sniper support. South, Al and Jersey will be on stand-by in the Pelican in case we alert the base. If we do, they're to drop in, free the prisoners, and eliminate all hostiles. Del and I will infiltrate the base and try to extract the HVI without drawing attention. Any questions?"

Alaska raises his hand, "Can I use my Dragon's Breath rounds?"

I laugh, "Yeah, but only after I give the signal for weapons free."

He looks like he's trying to decide between being happy and sad, and eventually just shrugs.

Suddenly the ship starts bucking wildly, and explosions sound outside.

"Takin' AA fire!" Daredevil shouts, "I'll keep us in the air, but you'll 'ave to jump soon!"

"Fuck," I say, "Alright, our plan's gone to hell. We're all dropping straight into their base except for Colorado and Ari - you're still on overwatch. Everyone grab a jetpack and move, now!" Everyone except me takes a jetpack.

"This is awesome!" Ari yells over the turbulence, "It's just like a roller-coaster back home!"

Colorado looks at him. "I don't have any idea what a roller-coaster is, but yeah, this is awesome."

We all line up at the door, and I turn to the others. "Ari, Colorado, I've marked good spots for you to set up. Get there and fire at will."

The two Agents nod and jump out of the Pelican, each giving an adrenaline-filled shout.

I look at the remaining four. "Alright, we're dropping into the dead center of their base. Load up and be ready to jump on my mark, sync?"

"Sync!" is the unanimous reply.

Alaska looks at me quizzically, "Why don't you have a jetpack?"

"I've got something a lot better in mind," I say, swiping a Spartan smile.

The others are very obviously confused. "What does that mean?" Delaware asks.

"You'll find out soon enough," I say, almost laughing as she groans in frustration.  
Daredevil pipes up from the cockpit, "We're over the base, you're green, mates. Good 'unting!"

Without another word, I wave at the others to follow and jump backwards out of the Pelican. I spread my arms and legs to control my spin, and see the ground rushing up to meet me. Acting on instinct, I curl up into a ball and activate my armor lockup module. I impact the ground with the force of a small bomb. Chunks of pavement are sent flying everywhere, and I hear a couple of people scream.

I unlock my armor, stand up, and rush the nearest group of Insurrectionists, at least a dozen of them. I dispatch three with bursts from my rifle, then I leap, roll, and fire my bayonet into a soldier's gut. He screams as I pull him towards me. I eject the knuckle-blade in my right gauntlet and send my fist flying into the terrified man's face. His skull collapses, and I drop him, leaving my rifle in his corpse. I pull out my pistols and shoot two more Innies in their heads, then punch another in the chest, pulverizing his ribcage and everything beneath it. One Insurrectionist rushes me with a shotgun, but I duck under the blast and side-kick him in the chest, sending him flying into two of his comrades and sending all of them through a wall. The last two take aim at me, but I send an electro-dart from my wrist module into one of them. The shock overloads his nervous system, and his body starts twitching madly as it falls. As his hand seizes up, his gun fires, killing his partner.

I turn around to see a tank rolling up to me, crushing any bodies in its path. As I run for cover, I scoop up my battle rifle, as well as the corpse attached to it. Suddenly, a drop pod crashes into the tank, crushing it. A figure steps out, wearing white armor with red highlights, and a multitude of colors spray-painted onto it. He holds a SAW, and has some kind of sniper rifle on his back. He also has a pair of three-barreled pistols on his hips. He jumps off of the tank, and shakes his head.

"Holy crap! I told them I hate heights, but no, they had to stick me in a damn drop pod!" He turns around and sees me standing with my weapon half-raised. "Oh, hey, you're Nevada, right? I'm California, but you can call me Cal. Listen, my pod got knocked off-course, and I was supposed to land a few kilometers north of here, so I need to get moving. See ya!" Without another word, he runs off, jumping over bodies and crates.

"The fuck was that?" I ask myself, and turn to check for hostiles.

Before I can engage the nearest group of soldiers, Delaware runs in, her twin swords glinting in the sunlight. She dispatches the Insurrectionists with brutal efficiency, decapitating two and cutting three of them clean in half. Before she can take out the last one, a shotgun fires and the man catches fire, screaming as the flaming shrapnel knocks him to the ground. I see Alaska standing over a pile of flaming Insurrectionists, shotgun smoking. I hear another shotgun blast, and turn to see Jersey standing over a dead Insurrectionist.

"Alright," I say, "Great job everyone. Where's South?"

"Went to take out the AA turrets," Jersey says.

Almost on cue, the anti-air emplacements explode. South radios in, "AA guns down, I think we killed all the Innies here."

I hear two sniper shots, almost at the same time, and I hear Colorado say, "Got him first."

"Dick!" Arizona says, "That was my kill!"

"I didn't see your name on him."

I sigh in exasperation, and lead the group into the base. We head to the prison level, and are met by dozens of disheveled faces. The conditions are horrific; seventy-five people of all ages, genders, and races crammed into one large amphitheater-like room. Apparently there are no bathrooms or garbage disposals - the smell of months-old waste fills my helmet just before the filters kick in. Several of us gag, and Arizona sounds like he's about to throw up.

I radio Daredevil. "Daredevil, we're going to need more Pelicans."

"Got it," he says.

I activate the megaphone built into my helmet. "Attention, everyone. We're from the UNSC, and we're here to get you out of here. Just sit tight, and Pelicans will be here shortly."

"What about the guards?" an old man asks nervously.

"All the Insurrectionists are dead, sir," I say.

"Are you Spartans?" a young boy asks; he couldn't be any older than ten.

I motion Colorado to step forward. "We are all members of Project Freelancer," I say, "But Colorado and I were originally Spartans."

"Colorado?" one man says, "What kind of name is that?"

"Our code names come from the fifty states of the United States of America," I say, "I am Nevada. This is Colorado, New Jersey, Arizona, Alaska, Delaware, and South Dakota." As I say this, I point to each of us in turn.

Some of the prisoners gasp as Leonidas appears on my wrist module. He projects an image of Megan into the air. "Have any of you seen this woman?" he asks.

"Is that an AI?" one woman asks, but a man cuts her off.

"Hey," he says, "I know her. Gimme a second, I'll go get her." He runs off, and I hear him say, "Hey, Megan! These guys that saved us are looking for you!"

Moments later the man returns, a woman in tow. She looks exactly like Megan in the picture, but thinned from months of malnutrition.

"Can I help you?" she asks.

"Not as much as we can help you," I say, "Our mutual friend Maine sent us here to bring you home."

She gasps. "Matthew? He's alive?!" She starts sobbing with joy. "Where is he? Can I talk to him now?"

"He's on another mission a few kilometers away from here, but I may be able to radio him." I send a signal to Maine, and his face pops up above my wrist module.

"What?!" he growls, "We're kind of busy- Megan? Is that you?"

"Matthew!" she cries happily, "Yes, it's me!"

"Megan!" he shouts joyously, "It's good to see-" He's suddenly cut off by a gunshot, and a bit of blood spatters the camera.

"Matthew," Megan says, her voice filled with fear, "What's happening? Was that a gunshot?"

He gurgles a reply, but his head slams around in his helmet as if he's being thrown to the ground. More gunshots sound, and blood begins to pool around Maine's head.

Megan starts screaming and crying, and I hear York come on the radio. "Maine's hit!" he yells frantically, "I count nine, maybe ten shots to the throat!"

I leap into action. "Freelancers, form up! Everyone head topside, NOW!" All of the Agents sprint through the hallways to the massive staircases. "Leonidas, tell Mother of Invention to have medbay ready to receive injured, and get Daredevil on the ground. We're going to get Maine."

We reach the surface, and several Pelicans are sitting on the ground. Daredevil's, identified by red flames along the sides, is hovering about ten feet above the ground. The other Agents jump up using their jetpacks and strap into the troop bay. Colorado forgoes the jetpack, yet still makes the jump with ease.  
I turn to Megan. "Come here." She walks over, still crying. "Listen," I say, "Hold on to me very tightly, got it?"

She nods and grabs on to me. I grab her, crouch low, and jump upwards, landing in the troop bay of Daredevil's Pelican in the way that only a Spartan can. Megan lets go of me and heads over to strap herself in, but starts trembling. As Colorado awkwardly helps her, I jog up to the cockpit and climb into the copilot's seat.

"Daredevil," I say, "Get us to Carolina's AO now. Maine's been shot in the throat."

"Crikey," he says, "Talk about bad luck. Makin' full burn for Maine's med beacon."


	9. Chapter 9

**Okay, a quick note before we begin.**

**First off, anyone who can find out where I got Daredevil's call-sign number gets recognition as being awesome. (Hint: think "Star Wars Republic Commando" novels.)**

**Second, I have some other ideas I want to work on in the near future. So I'm going to upload this, then I'm going to begin a cycle of updating this, then the other ones, and so on. This means updates for this story will be less frequent, but on the other hand I'll have two or three other stories, possibly more.**

**Third, I only own Nevada, Leonidas, Nira, Maya, Daredevil, Osprey Four Eight Two (aka Angel - to be introduced in this chapter), Megan (Maine's girlfriend), and some minor OCs (like the ODST squad that attacked Nev). Arizona belongs to UnknownNemesis98, Alaska belongs to Bluetongue12, Delaware belongs to Anna1795, Colorado belongs to Reaper10119, New Jersey belongs to Petchricor, and California belongs to BrambleStar14. All non-OCs belong to their legal owners.**

**Tex: Just start the damn story already.**

**York: Yeah, I want to see how this all goes down.**

**Me: Alright, alright, jeez. As I was saying, thank all of you for your support, and enjoy!**

As Daredevil flies us towards the city where Maine lies wounded, I head to the back of the Pelican to talk to Megan.

"Hey," I say. She looks at me, tears welling in her eyes. "He's going to live. Trust me. He may not be able to talk, but he'll definitely live."

She sobs, "I just... I just need some time."

"Okay," I say quietly, "You just rest."

As I walk away, I see Arizona hesitantly put his arm around Megan, and I hear him whisper, "I know what it's like to see someone you care about suffering."

_Huh,_ I think, _Maybe I'll ask him about that later_.

As I reach the cockpit, the Pelican suddenly shakes and lights start blinking. "What's going on?" I ask as Daredevil struggles to maintain control.

"We got hit by somethin' bad," he says, "I think it was fire from a couple of fighters. Yeah, they're comin' up behind us now."

I turn and look out the rear viewport, and see a pair of Longsword fighters approaching behind us. I spin as I hear the missile lock warning, and Daredevil swears.

"You guys are gonna 'ave to jump," he shouts, "My countermeasures are depleted, and I'm almost outta ammo. I'll call in Angel to get ya. Nice workin' with ya, Nev."

I walk up to Daredevil and pat him on the shoulder, "You too, buddy." I jog back to the troop bay and shout, "Enemy Longswords have missile lock on us, and we won't be able to avoid this bird getting destroyed. Someone get Megan."  
As people rush around and get ready to jump, I hear Daredevil shout back, "I'll do what I can to take 'em with me, but you might wanna get out quick." His voice raises and his accent thickens with the stress.

"Copy," I say, "Everyone, double time!"

Within a few moments, everyone is set to jump. The bay door opens, revealing a vast desert expanse, the dunes stretching on for miles. Waving to them to follow, I leap out of the Pelican, followed shortly by the others. Megan is in Jersey's arms and screaming as Jersey desperately tries to calm her down.

I open a channel to Angel. "This is Agent Nevada to Osprey Four Eight Two. Angel, do you read?"

"I copy," she says, "I hear you have a bit of a problem."

"Yeah. We were just forced to jump out of Daredevil's ship by enemy Longswords. Requesting pickup on my beacon."

"Scanning... I got you, Nev. Hang tight, I'll be there soon."

"No. Pick up Maine and get him back to MOI first. He got shot in the throat, so he needs immediate medical attention. We can hold out until you get back."

She sighs, "Fine. ETA to your pickup, half an hour."

"Thanks."

Moments later, I turn on my jetpack, and my body jerks upward as my descent slows. I hit the sand, roll, and look up just in time to see Daredevil's Pelican crash into the Insurrectionist Longswords, destroying all three in a massive ball of smoke and flame.

I look down in respect for a moment, then snap my head up and bring my battle rifle to bear when I hear a noise. Delaware and Megan trudge around the nearest sand dune, followed shortly by the others.

"VIP secure," Delaware says, "Team at one hundred percent."

"Good," I say, then Leonidas appears on my wrist display.

"Enemy forces inbound from the east," he says, "We really kicked the hornet's nest this time."

I take a look at the scenario in my head. "Everybody dig in, three parallel sand barriers. I want Colorado and Ari in the back with the VIP, providing sniper fire. Anybody with shotguns in front, and anyone with mid-range weapons between them and the snipers. Shotgunners, switch to slugs or explosive slugs. I want all AIs providing constant updates to all of us on enemy positions. I'm going to call in some ordnance, so keep your eyes open. I don't want anyone getting pancaked by a drop pod."

I turn away from them and open a channel to command. "Mother of Invention, this is Agent Nevada. I'm in need of an ordnance drop, can you provide?"

"Affirmative, Nevada. Anything specific?"

"We need ammo of all variations for battle rifles, shotguns, snipers, assault rifles, magnums, and my custom pistols and wrist launcher. In addition, I want you to send Colorado's custom sniper ammo."

As I say this, Leonidas puts text on my HUD: "Enemies have vehicles, recommend rockets."

"We also need rocket launchers and ammo," I add.

The man on the other end whistles, "Wow, sounds like you're getting ready for a serious party. Okay, rockets and other ammo are on the way, Colorado's sniper ammo will be along shortly."

Moments later, I see a drop pod among the clouds, and soon it lands a few meters away, sending sand flying. I walk over to see the pod half-buried in the sand. I sigh, grab the pod by its sides, and lift. I carry the pod to the middle of our formation as everyone except for Colorado gapes. I drop the pod and wrench the doors open to find a bunch of duffle bags, with labels like 'BR - AP' and 'AR - SHRED.' I start tossing bags to people, and a few minutes later a second pod lands. I look at Colorado and Arizona, and jerk my head towards the pod. They jog over and open it, and Colorado lets out a triumphant shout as he sees the ammo.

"Thanks, Santa!" he says to me, getting most of us to laugh. Even Megan manages to crack a smile, but it quickly fades. I walk over to her.

"Hey," I say, "Listen. I know you're basically in pieces right now, but we all need you to pull yourself together. I need you to focus on here and now, got it?"

She nods slowly, and wipes the tears from her eyes.

"Good," I say as I hand her a beacon, "Now listen closely. If I tell you to run, you turn this on and run as fast as you can in the other direction, got it?"

She nods again, and says, "What about you?"

"I'm pretty sure we won't be overrun, but in case they start using mortars or something, I want to get you as far away from us as possible. With any luck, they won't know to look for you."

"Okay," she says shakily. She takes a few deep breaths, and she becomes visibly calmer. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Just keep your head down, and listen to what we say."

Suddenly, a shot comes out of nowhere and hits Arizona dead center in the chest. He falls down gasping as we all get down. I go down on one knee and push Megan to the ground, scanning the area and holding my battle rifle one-handed. I see an Insurrectionist sniper walk out from behind a dune. I aim at him, only for him to collapse, some kind of tomahawk buried in his skull.

I walk over and pull the tomahawk out, examining it. "Hey, Colorado," I say, "Check out these markings."

He jogs over and takes a look. "They seem familiar, but I don't know where from."

"Hold on," I say, "I recognize this design. Remember Jason?"

"Jason?" he says, then his jaw drops. "No way..."

I hear a voice from behind the dune say, "Can I have that back?"

I turn to see the white-armored figure from before approaching. He holds out his hand, and I collapse the tomahawk and toss it to him.

He catches it and looks at me. "How'd you know how to collapse it?"

"Long time, no see, Jason," I say, and the figure takes a step back.

"Who the hell _are_ you?" he asks.

"Oh, come on," I say, "You don't remember me? What was that nickname you gave me? Romeo? And I'm pretty sure Nira kicked you in the nuts for calling her Juliet."

The white-armored figure freezes, then slowly looks up at me. "Gabe?"

I nod and jerk my thumb towards Colorado, "Yeah, and that's Kale."

"Sup," Colorado says and waves.

"How'd you figure out it was me?" Jason asks.

"Jason, you're the only Spartan who makes tomahawks like that," I say, "It was fairly obvious."

"Heh, good point," he says, "Also, I'm California now."

"Sweet. I'm Nevada and Kale's Colorado."

Arizona gasps for air, and I say, "Oh, shit, Ari!" I run over to check the damage. The shot went right through, deflating one of his lungs and rupturing several other organs. "Ari, can you hear me?" He nods, grunting in pain. "Okay, listen. I'm not gonna lie, it's pretty bad. I'm gonna turn your armor into a temporary life support system, and that'll stabilize you, but you can't take your helmet off for more than a few minutes, alright?" He nods again, and I get to work. Fifteen grueling minutes later, the change is done.

Arizona shakily gets up and walks away, and Jersey jogs up to him. I see the two sit down, and both take off their helmets. They talk for a few minutes, both looking decidedly shy and embarrassed, and then, surprisingly, they kiss and put their helmets back on.

Suddenly my radio comes to life. "Nevada, this is command. We saw your situation and are preparing to provide orbital support."

"Command," I say, "This is Nevada. Extra caution is advised, VIP does not have armor."

"Roger that, targeting rear forces first. Do you want a drone feed?"

"Please."

"Patching surveillance drone camera feed to your HUD now."

A panel pops up on my HUD, and I see a birds-eye view of the enemy column. I do a quick estimate, and count about three hundred soldiers and ten tanks.

"Command," I say, "Could you take out some of those tanks for us? We don't have the firepower or the ammo for that many."

"Roger, Nevada. Hold on to your helmets."

I turn to the group, "Alright, everybody, orbital strike inbound on enemy tanks. You might want to get behind something."

Everybody scrambles behind cover except for me, Colorado, and California.

"Let's do this the badass way," I say and grin, and I can tell the other two are grinning as well. We stand facing the enemy, me in front and Colorado and California to either side of me.

A soldier in ODST armor walks up to the front of the enemy force. "Attention, assholes!" he shouts, "Stand down, now! You are outnumbered and outgunned. Surrender, and we might let some of you live."

Suddenly, a MAC round from the _Mother of Invention_ slams into the enemy tanks, destroying all of them, and taking out any soldiers unlucky enough to be near them.

"What the fuck was that?!" the enemy leader screams, and turns around to see the smoking wreckage. "Shit," he says, and turns back to us, "Okay, so you took out our tanks. We still have three hundred soldiers ready to absolutely crush you. I have some matters to attend to, so you're lucky I'm leaving now." He turns and walks to a waiting Falcon, which promptly takes off and leaves.

"Wuss," Colorado says, and California and I chuckle.

The enemy force collectively raise their weapons and charge. Everybody gets into their prearranged positions; shotguns in front, battle rifles and assault rifles behind them, and sniper rifles and rocket launchers in the far back. California is in the middle row, spraying a SAW into the enemy ranks. After we mow down about a hundred, the enemy forces get close enough to warrant hand-to-hand combat. I leap over California and charge, screaming at the top of my lungs as I do so. The Insurrectionists look shocked at my speed, and I hear one cry "Spartan!" The soldiers in the front row start backpedaling, only to be trampled by their comrades behind them.

I run up to a soldier and kick him into the soldiers behind him, then spin and punch clean through another's head. I throw the body at another pair with enough force to kill both of them, then I pull out my pistols and start shooting soldiers. One aims a rocket launcher at me, but as he fires, a flying tomahawk catches the rocket and detonates it. I turn to see California hacking at enemy soldiers with a pair of machetes. At one point one of his machetes gets stuck in a soldier's head, but he pulls a seven-inch knife out of his shoulder holster and uses that instead. I see Alaska laughing gleefully as he mows down Insurrectionists with "dragon's breath" rounds, and Arizona and Jersey working as a team to take out large groups.

A shot whizzes past me, and I turn to see a line of Insurrectionist soldiers aiming at me. I aim my wrist launcher at the middle one and shoot an explosive dart into his leg. He falls, screaming, and a moment later the dart detonates, taking out all but two soldiers. I switch to my battle rifle and shoot each of them, then spin and stab one with my bayonet. I kick the body off, then launch the bayonet at a soldier who's about to shoot South, sending it into the man's neck. A soldier steps between me and the man I shot with my bayonet.

"Ha! Your bayonet's gone! Now, freeze!"

I laugh and retract the bayonet. The body slams into the man, and his gun fires, taking out another two soldiers. As I pull them both towards me, I kick the man in front, sending them both flying.

Suddenly, an engine roars and sand flies. I look up and see Angel's Pelican coming in to land.

"Ride's here people!" I shout, "Let's move!"

Colorado and I turn and sprint to get Megan, and the three of us hit the sand as a grenade goes off somewhere nearby.

"Time to go," I say. She nods, and we all stand.

Suddenly Colorado falls, clutching his side. An Insurrectionist stands behind him, gun smoking. Pure rage fills me. I run up, kick his knee in, and sweep his remaining leg out from under him. He screams and falls, clutching his shattered knee, and I kneel on him and begin punching him repeatedly. After a few moments, the screams stop, and I stand up.

I turn to see Colorado shakily getting to his feet. I jog over and help him up, and he throws his arm over my shoulder.

We head over to the Pelican and stumble on board. Megan takes a seat near the cockpit, and Colorado collapses into the first seat he reaches. He proceeds to fire at any Insurrectionists he can see as the others rush aboard, refusing to rest for even a moment. I hit the hatch controls, walk up to the cockpit, and pound twice on the bulkhead. The Pelican lifts off, leaving behind that hellish desert.

Suddenly, another enemy Longsword pulls up behind us.

"Oh, come ON!" South groans.

"Angel!" I shout, "Get us into orbit! I have a plan, but I can't do it when we have gravity."

"Got it," Angel says, "Making full burn for orbit."

"Good," I say, "When we get there, I want you to take Megan up there, get the cockpit sealed, and vent the passenger hold."

"Wait, what are you planning?" Colorado asks.

"You remember Jericho Seven, right?"

"Do I remember- oh, God."

"What?" Megan asks, now slightly worried.

"Megan," Colorado says, "Get into the cockpit and seal the bulkhead behind you."

"Okay..." she says, still not convinced. She moves past me, and I hear the bulkhead hiss shut.

"What's going on?" Arizona asks.

"Everyone seal your suits," I say, "Get ready for the bay door to open."

Everybody checks their suits and straps themselves in. Within a few seconds, the pull of gravity begins to subside.

"Angel," I say, "Open the back door. I'm going to go give our guests a present."

The door opens, and the atmosphere in the troop bay vents into space.

"You're clear, Nev," Angel says, "Good hunting."

"Thanks," I say, then I sprint and jump out of the Pelican.

As I drift towards the enemy fighter, the pilots seem to catch on to what I'm planning. Rounds spray through the black of space, but I easily avoid them with my jetpack. I land on the pilot's canopy and punch through it. Pistol rounds come out of the hole, and I lean out of the way. The rounds stop, and I tear away a section of the canopy and pull myself in feet first. I pull out my pistols and shoot the two men manning the controls, then insert Leonidas into the control console.

"Leo," I say, "Mark us as friendly and let the MOI know what's going on."

"Done," he says, "MOI confirms and I'm moving us into a position to support Angel."

"Good thinking," I say.

The Director's voice comes on the radio, "Come in, Agent. Why is an enemy fighter marked as friendly? Do you want to be charged with treason?"

"Sir," I say, "I recently hijacked the fighter. Take a look at my location and vitals in the ship if you don't believe me."

A moment passes. "Agent, I will expect a full report of how this happened. Do you understand me?"

"Copy that, sir," I say.

"Good," he says, and cuts the channel.

"Dick," I mutter, then I return to piloting the fighter. Moments later, the _Mother of Invention_ looms before me. Angel's Pelican heads into the hangar, and moment's later we get the all-clear.

"We're good to go in," Leonidas says, and I feel the fighter shudder as we enter the ship's hangar. I watch as people gape at the massive hole in the cockpit and my hulking armored figure within. I land the fighter, jump out, and jog over to Angel's Pelican.

"Hey guys," I say nonchalantly.

"Dude," Arizona says, "That was awesome!"

"Wow," Delaware says, "You _have_ to teach me how to do that."

"This isn't the first time," Colorado says, "He did it once over Jericho Seven."

"When?" Jersey asks.

"About a year and a half ago," I say, "Why?"

Jersey snaps her fingers, "So _that's_ what happened. On the day I was scheduled to ship out to basic, our shuttle got delayed and I saw some explosions in the sky. I always wondered what had happened."

The Director suddenly storms in, and we all line up and stand at attention. "Agents," he says, "Report."

"Primary objective completed, sir," I say, "But secondary objectives left the base before we could get there. We assume that they went to the area that Agent Carolina and her team were working in."

Megan suddenly shoves through. "Where's Matthew?" she asks, her voice filled with venom.

"Ah," the Director says, "This must be Megan. I am Director Leonard Church of Project Freelancer. Agent Maine is now in surgery, and will be out in a while."

"I want to be there when he wakes up," she says, ignoring the offered handshake.

"I understand your concern," the Director says, cloaking his obvious disdain, "But after such a... traumatic event, Agent Maine will be likely violent upon his awakening."

"And my presence can calm him down," she says with equal determination.  
After a tense ten seconds, the Director slightly relaxes his posture. "Alright. Permission granted. But, seeing as the surgery will be quite a while, you will need living quarters."

"We have a spare room, sir," Arizona says, "We could take her. Besides, it would help her to be around some of Maine's friends."

"Do what you will. I have more urgent matters to attend to. However, I will expect a full report within the usual timeframe. Especially you, Nevada."

"Understood, sir," I say.

"Good. Dismissed."

All of us except Megan salute, and we head back to the rec room. Colorado and Arizona break off to head to the medical bay, and Jersey tags along, probably to be with Arizona. After a while we hear voices behind us, and turn to see Angel and Four Seven Niner chatting as they follow us.

"Isn't your living area somewhere else?" Delaware asks.

"Not anymore," Four Seven Niner replies, "Seeing as we'll be working together a lot, our quarters got moved to your sector."

"Cool," I say, "Hope you're comfortable playing poker with us."

"Not a problem," Angel says, "By the way, Nev, Cal, and Colorado, I've heard rumors about the Spartans' strange lack of modesty. Can you try to keep that behind closed doors?"

"Just what are you-" I start, but California cuts me off.

"Relax," he says, "That only applies to locker rooms and stuff. Besides, Nev already has a girlfriend." He grins wolfishly. He nudges me with his elbow, and I respond with a light shove.

"Wow," Angel says, "I thought Spartans didn't have relationships."

I look at them quizzically, "We're human, aren't we?"

"Yeah," Angel says, "But rumor has it you guys don't remember civilian life, and that you were raised in boot or something."

I pull off my helmet, "Well, the first part is true. As for the second part, I can't officially confirm that." As I say this, I give them a knowing wink, but I have to make an effort to slow myself down; Spartan winks aren't very easy to notice for regular humans.

Angel and Four Seven Niner both tilt their heads a bit in understanding, and we finally reach the rec room. Some poor trooper is moving Angel's and Four Seven Niner's gear into a room. I see Four Seven Niner tense, and I edge away.

"No, no, NO!" she screams, causing everyone to wince, "This one goes here, that one goes there! Don't you have any common sense?!"

As Four Seven Niner continues to berate the unfortunate soldier, several of us groan. Megan looks particularly perturbed by the display.

"Well," Delaware says, "It's good to be home."


	10. Chapter 10

I slowly open my eyes and look around my room. The first thing I notice is that all of Colorado's gear is gone. Now wary, I keep my eyes nearly closed as I scan the room, looking for any sign of a prank. Strangely, the room's empty except for all of my things.

"Leo," I whisper, "Anything I should know about before I get up?"

"Yeah," a voice says from the other end of the room, and an armored figure materializes seemingly out of thin air. The person's armor is white with red highlights, in the Hayabusa style that only a select few have ever used.

Acting on instinct, I leap from my bed and drop into a fighting stance, ready to take on the unknown figure. Then I notice the custom-made collapsible sword on his waist. There's only one person I know who has that sword.

"Oh, brother," I groan, rolling my eyes as I realize who he is.

"Nailed it," he says as he pulls off his helmet, revealing my twin brother. He runs a gauntleted hand through his medium-length hair, which is slightly longer than mine. His blue-gray eyes, similar to mine, have a tired look to them. "How's everything, Gabe?"

"Now that you're here," I say, "A whole lot worse."

"Oh, don't be like that. It isn't my fault you can't handle my awesomeness."

"Ugh, you and your ego. Get out for a minute, I'm going to put my armor on."

"Good idea," Will grins, "You have a one-on-one training match in five."

"Shit," I mutter, going for my armor locker, but then I turn. "Also, I'm Agent Nevada now."

"Great," Will says, "I'm Oregon."

"Well, live up to your reputation and make yourself scarce. I gotta get changed."

"Testy," Oregon says as he opens the door and steps out, "Oh, and also, Cemmi is New Mexico now."

"Told you she wasn't dead," I say as I begin putting on my armor. Five minutes later, I'm in the training room facing off against some new Agent, a tall person with green and pink armor in the same configuration as mine.

"Hey, you new?" I say, "I'm Nevada."

"Virginia," the Agent says through a voice filter, and strikes at me with the speed that instantly tells me he (or she) is a Spartan. I block and kick, sending the Agent skidding backwards a few feet. The Agent comes back swinging, and I block and counterattack. The Agent and I trade blows for a full ten minutes before I manage to catch them with a roundhouse to the head, knocking their helmet off. The Agent faces away from me for a moment, her long blonde hair flowing down her back. She turns around, and my jaw almost hits the floor, and I blink a few times.

"N- Nira?"

"Hey," Nira says, grinning. Her blue eyes lock with mine, and we sprint towards each other and hug. I lift her off the ground and spin her around, and she squeals a little. She taps my helmet, telling me to take it off, and I remove my left hand from her and pull my helmet off, tossing it to the side.

"When did you get reassigned?" I ask, "I thought you were still fighting the Covenant."

"Turns out the brass want the Insurrection off our backs so we can focus on the Covies," she says, "And you were right. They really are being played by their leaders."

"How'd you find out?"

"An Elite defected and gave us a lot of intel. He got killed by a team of Zealots, but not before giving me this." She holds up an energy sword hilt, different from any I've ever seen. She turns it on to reveal that the blade is shaped like a katana, then turns it back off and puts it away.

"Nice," I say, "Innies are gonna run like hell when they see that."

"Yeah. I already tested it on the Zealots that killed the defector. Seems to work pretty well."

"I bet. Hey, let's go get your stuff into my quarters. Kale moved his stuff out already, so there's room for whatever you brought."

"Shouldn't we finish this up first?"

"We'd be going for at least half an hour, you know that."

"True... Yeah, let's go get my stuff set up."

We leave the training room and walk back to the rec room, where Oregon and Colorado are chatting about old times.

"Hey Will, hey Kale," Virginia says.

"Hey," Oregon says, "Colorado was just filling me in on what happened since he got here."

Suddenly, North runs into the room.

"Guys," he pants, "Maine's waking up. Megan's already there, and the Director wants us all there in case he causes trouble."

We all grab our helmets and sprint down the hallway.

"How is he going to cause trouble?" I ask, "He just took at least eight bullets to the throat."

"He's fought through worse," North says, "One time took out an entire platoon even though he had at least three knives in his gut."

"Shit," Oregon says, "Who is this guy?"

"Agent Maine," Colorado says, "Strongest non-Spartan here. Fairly high up on the board."

"Board?" Virginia asks, confused.

"There's a leaderboard of all the top Freelancers," I say, "Except for us."

"Yeah," North says, "What's up with that? Considering that you're Spartans, you should all be at the top."

"I think it's because we have AIs," Oregon says.

"You got one?" I ask.

"Yeah," he says, "His name's Desmond." On cue, a white hologram of a young man in a hoodie and jeans pops up on his shoulder.

"Hey," Desmond says.

Leonidas appears on my shoulder, Scythe appears on Colorado's shoulder, and Maya appears on Virginia's shoulder. Maya's hologram is a pink female, clothed like an ancient Roman legionary.

"Wow," Desmond says, "Guess I'm the new guy in the party."

"Leo," I say, "Forward the Forerunner file to Desmond and Will. Tell them to hold off on using it until they've got some down time."

"Done," Leonidas says, just as we reach the medbay. I can see all of the other top Agents standing outside the recovery room, and some of the others move so I have room to see. Maine is lying on the recovery bed, still in full armor, minus his helmet. Megan is sitting in a chair next to him, holding his hand.

"How long has she been there?" I ask.

"Since he got out of surgery," Tex says, "I had to throw some medics to convince them to let her stay."

"Ouch," I say. Maine suddenly shifts a bit, and his eyes slowly begin to open. Megan moves a little closer and leans in. Maine looks up and sees her, and attempts to speak, but all that comes out is a growl, and he puts his hand on his throat.

"Hey, easy," Megan says and hands him a datapad, "Don't try to talk. Do you remember what happened?"

Maine types a message onto the datapad, then shows it to Megan.

"Good," she says, "The doctors were worried there might be some head trauma."

Maine types another message and shows it to her.

"I don't think you ever will," she says, "Unless someone comes up with some new reconstructive surgery, you won't ever talk again. I'm sorry."

Maine clenches a fist for a moment, then relaxes again and types another message.

"Yes, I'm fine. Nevada's team arrived in the prison block just before you were shot. They brought me onto a Pelican so they could go get you, but we got shot down and they had to call in another. They held off a couple hundred troops until the Pelican arrived, and one, I think it was Colorado, got shot in the process."

Maine types a message and shows it to her, and she looks at me and waves me in. The crowd of Agents parts before me as I make my way to the door and go through. I walk to the side of Maine's bed, and he slowly types in a message and hands me the datapad. It says 'thank you for saving her.'

"No problem, buddy," I say. I hand him the datapad, and he types in another message and shows it to Megan.

"We need to discuss something in private," she says.

"Of course. You want the guys outside gone?"

"Please."

I leave the medical room, and wave my hand to tell the others to get lost. In a few moments, I'm alone with Virginia and Tex.

"Hey, Nev," Tex says, "You want to spar? I still need to get you back for beating me."

"Meh, why not?" I say, "I'll probably spar with Virginia afterwards, seeing as we haven't seen each other in a while."

"You know her from before?"

"You don't remember me?" Virginia asks, "It's me, Nira."

"Oh. Oh!" Tex says, the realization hitting her like a train. "Now I remember. You were the one who made friends with that Elite. How's he doing?"

Virginia looks down, "He's dead. A team of Zealots got to him."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Tex says, "From what I could tell, you two hit it off pretty well."

"Thanks," Virginia says, "He managed to give me this before he died." She tosses Tex her energy sword, and she activates it.

"Wow. This thing is amazing." Tex deactivates the sword and tosses it back to Virginia, who clips it back on her belt.

"Thanks," she says, "Hey, can I have a few minutes with Nev before you spar with him? I want to get some upgrades and attachments from him."

"Sure thing," Tex says and turns to me, "Meet me in the training room when you're done, alright?"

"No problem," I say, and she heads to the training room as Virginia and I head back to our room. We arrive and she moves over to my makeshift workbench. She sets down her assault rifle and her two revolvers, and grabs the spare grappling hook bayonet I have for my battle rifle. As she starts fixing it to her assault rifle, I begin working on putting some retractable spikes on her gauntlets, elbows, knees, and boots. Within a few minutes we're done, and I stand up and stretch.

"I see you still prefer the MA5C," I say, "It's a bit weak and inaccurate, don't you think?"

"This thing's kept me out of all kinds of trouble," she says, "I like it just fine. Besides, I've modded it to hit harder, faster, and more accurately"

"Alright, your choice. Just saying, don't blame me when I get ahead of you in our little kill-count contest."

"Not happening. By the way, how's your right eye?"

"Still bad."

"I thought the augmentations would fix that."

"Turns out, through some genetic screwup, they actually made it worse. But with my luck I'll probably lose it in combat or something."

She gently slaps my wrist. "Stop that. I don't want to think about you getting injured, I just want to think about here and now."

"Can we do that after my fight with Tex?"

"Sure. But I'm not quite sure who to put my money on."

"I'm insulted," I laugh, "Have ye no faith?"

"I have plenty of faith in you. It's just that Tex is really good."

"I beat her once, I can do it again."

"I don't know about that. We sparred a couple times, and let me tell you, she's a quick learner. By our second fight, she had me almost completely figured out. Almost." She grins at me, and I smile back.

"Come on," I say, "Let's not keep Tex waiting." We head back to the training room at a brisk jog, and we're there within a few minutes. Tex is already there, with a pair of SMGs in her hands. I grab paint magazines for my pistols and load them. I rack the slides and get ready as F.I.L.S.S. counts down the time until the round begins. I look at the observation stand, and Virginia gives me a 'good luck' salute.

"Three, two, one, round begin."

Tex immediately sends a hail of paint rounds towards me, but I easily dodge them. I return fire, but she dodges as well. She fires a second salvo, and a couple of rounds impact on my legs. I fall to the ground, and Tex sets up to finish the round with an execution.

She pulls the trigger, and a live round crashes through my visor, through my right eye, and out the side of my helmet. I spasm and yell in pain, blood covering the inside of what remains of my visor. The pain isn't as bad as the augmentations, but it's still bad enough to make me start yelling. Tex rushes over and yanks my helmet off. I see her pull a cloth from an armor compartment and press it against my wound in an attempt to slow the bleeding. I hear screams from the observation deck, and I manage to turn my head just a bit. I see Virginia smash the window and jump through. She immediately runs over and starts yelling at Tex.

"What the hell was that?! Aren't paint mags the only kind allowed on the training floor?"

"I assumed it WAS a paint mag!" Tex yells as a medic takes over holding the cloth to my eye, "Who the fuck loaded that mag?!"

When she says that, an anonymous trooper standing nearby starts heading towards the door. Mustering all of my remaining strength, I weakly point, and everyone spins to look at him. He breaks into a full-on sprint, and I hear Tex and someone else, probably Carolina, shouting to chase him. Virginia pulls out her sword, activates it, and throws it. It spins through the air and cuts the man's legs off, sending him crashing to the floor. He screams and starts crawling towards the door, but Tex walks over and stomps on his hand, shattering the bones. The screams continue as some medics load me onto a gurney and lead me away. Moments later, I black out.

I wake up to the voice of Leonidas in my head telling me to wake up. I feel a patch over my right eye, and Oregon and Colorado are sitting next to my bed.

"Hey, you're up," Colorado says.

"Gabe," Oregon says, "I hate to tell you this, but there was severe damage from the bullet."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"When the bullet hit, there was very severe trauma inflicted. Your eye had to be removed, but your brain was untouched."

"Gimme a mirror," I say, and Colorado complies. I look in it to see my face almost exactly the way it was before, except for a patch over my right eye.

"Unfortunately," Oregon says, "They weren't able to save your face."

I glare at him with my good eye and he grins devilishly. Then the two break out into raucous laughter, just before the door opens behind them. Still laughing, they turn to see Tex and Virginia standing in the doorway, giving them the biggest evil eye ever known to mankind. Oregon and Colorado immediately stop laughing, and bolt out of the room. Virginia sighs and shakes her head as she sits next to me and puts her hand on mine.

"Sorry about those two," she says.

"Don't be," I say, "Will's been like that since day one. And Kale's had it rough, he deserves some slack."

"The guy who sabotaged the mag is in the brig," Tex says, "Virginia's heading over to interrogate him now."

"I'll do it," I say as I push myself into a sitting position, "I need to show this son of a bitch what happens when people fuck with me."

"Well," Tex says, "You won't be able to break his legs, 'cause Virginia cut them off."

"I remember," I say, "By the way, nice throw."

"Thanks," she says as I shakily stand up, "But you shouldn't be walking around yet."

I stretch my back and grab my earpiece and watch off the table next to my bed, "And not a single fuck was given that day."

She laughs, "Alright, whatever you say. Just don't wear your armor in there. That way he has more of a chance of surviving if you lose it."

"Okay," Tex says, "Something tells me some of the others'll need barf bags."

"You mean your armor doesn't have waste and vomit disposal?" Virginia asks.

"No... Wait, does yours?"

"Yeah," I say, "We've had them since day one."

"You lucky bastards," Tex says jokingly.

As we leave the room and head towards the brig, Virginia opens a channel to my earpiece.

"You won't lose it again, right?" she asks.

"I'll do my best," I say quietly, "But we'd better have people on standby just in case."

"Got it."

When we reach the brig, we find the last person we'd expect to see there, calmly looking through a one-way mirror at the prisoner.

The Director.

"Agent Nevada. How good it is to see you again."

**Yeah, I know it's been a while. I've been working on several projects lately, as well as school and dealing with some ongoing personal and family issues. Things have been rough lately, but I'm going to try to keep stuff coming as quickly as possible without detracting from the quality. Also, if you like this story, I strongly recommend you Check out my other stories.**

**York: You're rambling again.**

**Tex: Yeah, you really need to get to the point.**

**Gizmo: Right, sorry. Point is, sorry this took so long, and please go check out my story on FictionPress, as well as my other stories here.**

**Virginia: Don't forget what you were going to say about the gauntlet blades.**

**Gizmo: Oh, right, thanks. Nevada's and Virginia/Nira's gauntlet blades are inspired by the knuckle-blades used by the Clone Commandos in Star Wars. Which is awesome.**

**Colorado: Rambling again.**

**Gizmo: Stop rushing me. I can cripple you with nothing but a keyboard.**

**Colorado: ... No you can't. Can you?**

**Gizmo: Do you really want to find out?**

**Colorado: ...**

**Gizmo: Thought so. Either way, thank you for reading, please fave and follow, and don't be afraid to review!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Sorry about taking so long on getting anything done. My life has been a hurricane of college hunting and personal issues lately. I haven't had much time to work on my stories, and I would rather take my time than rush and turn out something half-assed and not worth reading. Speaking of which, to those of you who have read my story over on FictionPress, I have taken it down to redo it or, possibly, get rid of it entirely; I just don't feel like I did a good job with that one. Either way, hope you enjoy this one, and please consider reviewing, favoriting, or following.**

**Also, this chapter is dedicated to my fellow author Andrithir, with my wishes for a speedy and full recovery from his car crash.**

At the sight of the Director, the three of us snap to attention.

"As you were," the Director says, "Nevada, it was my understanding that you would be in the medical bay."

"With all due respect, sir," I say, "I need to be the one to interrogate him. Not only will it demoralize him and make him talk sooner, but I need to show this bastard that it'll take a lot more than one bullet to kill me."

A shadow of a grin crosses the Director's face, "Well spoken, Nevada. Continue."

"Thank you, sir," I say darkly and head into the interrogation room. The lights are off, but I can perfectly see a table tilted at a forty-five degree angle, with the Insurrectionist saboteur tied to it by his torso and his two remaining limbs. The man is wearing a gag, and his eyes flick around the room rapidly as he grunts a few times, having heard me enter. I pull off the gauze over my eye, feeling the sting of air making contact with the still-raw wound, and I hit the lights. The Innie's eyes shoot open, and he grunts frantically, struggling against his bonds with all his might.

"Don't bother," I say as I walk around him, "Those ropes are made to hold people much stronger than you." I extend the blade in my watch and cut the gag, and the man gasps for air.

"Y- you," he stutters, "You're dead! I saw you die!"

"Obviously not," I say, pointing to my eye, "Although you did manage to give me a little trophy. Now it's my turn." I jab my blade into his upper arm, and he screams. After a few moments I pull it out and walk in front of him.

"Now," I smirk evilly, "Let's get started, shall we? How long have you been involved with the Insurrection?"

The man sobs, "About three years ago... I was a crewman on a trading ship, but we got attacked. They killed the captain... threatened to do the same to us if we didn't join... I had to..."

My eyebrow quirks in surprise. I hadn't been expecting him to talk this early. I begin pacing in front of him, making a show of cleaning my knife as he whimpers and sobs.

"So," I say, "Why were you sent here?"

"I'm a nobody," he says, "I can get in places because people don't expect me. I was sent here to monitor the Project and sabotage a bit when necessary."

"So, why did they order you to attack now, instead of just before a mission?"

"They needed a distraction. They were planning some big op, and they needed me to distract you while they made their initial move, because this is the closest ship."

"What kind of op?"

"I don't know. They mentioned something about a planet. Something about predecessors, or forerunners, or something."

This revelation makes my blood run cold. Innies with Forerunner artifacts could doom entire planets, and the entire UNSC at worst.

I exit the room and turn to Wyoming, who's been watching the whole time.

"Keep working on him," I say, "He already seems plenty responsive, you shouldn't need to do much other than ask."

"Right," he says, "I'll have everything he's got in no time." He walks into the room, and the bulkhead seals.

I turn to the Director. "Sir," I say, "Did you catch that?"

"Yes I did, Nevada," he drawls, "And I know how powerful Forerunner artifacts are. After all, I have read the reports, including some by Doctor Halsey."

"Speaking of Halsey, sir, permission to take the other Spartans and secure the artifacts?"

"Granted. We cannot allow the enemy this advantage, and you Spartans have more experience with Forerunner artifacts than any other Freelancers."

"Thank you, sir. We'll leave as soon as I'm geared up."

"Excellent. Dismissed."

I turn and run down the hallway, tapping my watch interface to open a comm channel to Oregon, Colorado, New Mexico, California, Virginia, and Angel.

"Spartans," I say, "Innies have discovered Forerunner tech, and we're going to stop them cold. Gear up for an extended mission and get to the hangar. Angel, prep for flight and pack some major ordnance, they're bound to have heavy defenses."

All of the others confirm my orders, and I dodge around the corner and into the rec room. I key open the door to my room to find Virginia collecting her gear. I head to my locker and start putting on the undersuit to my armor, and feel a hand on my shoulder.

"Are you sure you're up to this?" Virginia asks, "We're perfectly capable of taking care of this on our own."

I turn around and put my arms around her. "I'm fine, Nira. All I need is a couple painkillers every now and then, but I'll be fine. When we get back, I'll start working on schematics for a working prosthetic, but for now I'll have to cope with just one. Leo and my visor can help with that."

"Alright," she says, "But I'll be watching you like a hawk."

"I wouldn't expect anything less." I return to putting on my armor, which I finish in about ten minutes. I grab my battle rifle and pistols and make sure I have my spare attachments in my hip compartment, then I walk to the door. Nira is leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, her helmet already on, and she nods to me. I put my helmet on and nod back, and we head down the hallway.

A few minutes later we reach the hangar, where the others are already assembled. Oregon has somehow managed to convince California to lend him a tomahawk, which is hanging on his waist opposite from his sword.

"Everyone's ready," Colorado says, "The others are helping load up supplies, we'll be good to go in two."

"Let's get it done," I say, "Everyone pitch in, we gotta leave ASAP! Move it, people!"

The others begin loading crates, and we're done in about a minute. The other Freelancers wave goodbye and leave the hangar, and my team and I get into the Pelican. Angel begins the takeoff sequence and opens a channel to hangar control.

"This is Osprey Four Eight Two," Angel says, "We are green for takeoff."

"Roger that," the man on the other end says, "Fly safe."

We leave the hangar and streak towards the planet. I stand up, walk to the rear door, and turn to face the others.

"Alright," I say, "So when we hit the dirt we'll need to set up camp. New Mexico, you're in charge of setting up security, getting some secure comm channels, camouflaging the camp, and so on. Colorado, you'll find a good position to provide overwatch of the camp and the surrounding area, and get some sniping and recon gear set up. Oregon, you're on recon, find any nearby threats and evaluate them; neutralize only if they're an immediate danger. California, Virginia, and I will set up shop and help out where necessary. Desmond, I need you to find a list of good camp sites. Something tactically sound, and with a couple of good landmarks nearby so we can find our way back."

Desmond pops up on Oregon's shoulder. "Got one, boss," he says, "Large cave in a mountain. It's a good distance away from any Innie bases, far enough that they shouldn't be able to detect the Pelican. Which, by the way, can fit in the cave with a good deal of extra room."

"Fantastic," I say, "Forward the coordinates to Angel. Also, could one of you make a list of the plants and animals on this planet? I'd like to know what we can or can't eat."

"Can do," Maya says and disappears.

"Leo," I say, "Find all Innie bases and mark them on our maps, and try to find some patterns in any traffic in or out of them. Scythe, see if you can find any unclaimed Forerunner tech, so we can mark it and see where the Innies hold their stashes. Maybe find a way to modify trackers to get the layout of the base."

"Got it," they both say.

"Approaching the LZ," Angel says over the speakers, "Get ready to disembark."

"Acknowledged," I say, "I'm coming up front." I walk up to the front of the pelican and hop in the copilot's seat. The first thing I notice is the massive mountain looming ahead of us, and the seemingly small cave about a third of the way up. Within a minute we are in the cave, inside which Angel has ample room to turn the Pelican so it's facing the exit. Angel powers down the Pelican and I head back to the troop bay.

"Alright, people," I say, "Get to it."

We jump out of the Pelican and scatter, getting to our assigned tasks. California, Virginia, and I begin unloading crates and setting them up in an organized fashion. Within a few hours our camp is completely set up, and we each pull out a couple of MREs. After we finish, Colorado steps outside to take first watch as the rest of us head over to the sleeping area. Nira lays down beside me and puts her hand on my side, and I turn to face her. We fall asleep holding hands, listening to the crackling of the fire and the noises of the creatures in the forest below.


End file.
